


Fated

by maydei



Series: Two Hearts, One Name [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Loveless Fusion, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Battle Magic, Battle Scenes, Battle-Related Violence, Blood and Violence, College Student Katsuki Yuuri, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Filling Loveless Plotholes With Wheelbarrows of Tar and Taking Extreme Liberties With Their Canon, Fluff, Found Family, Graduate School, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Magic, Minor Injuries, Mutual Pining, Pining, Prompt Fill, Septimal Moon | Seven Moons, Slow Burn, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Spells & Enchantments, Telepathic Bond, the slowest of burns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-01-09 17:21:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 141,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12281019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maydei/pseuds/maydei
Summary: One Fighter. One Sacrifice. One unit, one team, bound by a name written on their bodies. It’s a mark that distinguishes them from others, and to each other, for the purpose of engaging in magical combat.The idea is a noose tied with red thread, but a name cannot be denied. It simply is, and simply will be. Against all alliances and all reason, there is no fighting a  name——unless you don’t have one.A Loveless Fusion/AU.





	1. Relentless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Farasha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farasha/gifts).



> **IMPORTANT: you don't need to know Loveless to read this fic!** That said, if you _do_ know Loveless, there should be enough canonverse to keep it enjoyable. 
> 
> Loveless is basically a big 'ol soulmate AU with a side of magic battles, and virgins have cat ears and tails. The manga started in 2002 with the characters Aoyagi Ritsuka and Agatsuma Soubi. It's a wild ride and definitely worth the read. The manga is still (somehow) ongoing and can be found online for those who are curious. That said, since Loveless canon starts in 2002, this fic takes place in their future in the year 2017. It fills some holes in Loveless canon and answers some questions that haven't been properly answered yet. 
> 
> Anyway, here it is, y'all. The much awaited Secret Project, which is not-so-secretly the result of the Shifty Skater Exchange. I didn't manage to finish it in time, so Farasha got sequel porn instead. Still, I got a lot of questions about backstory. Don't be fooled, this fic _always_ came first. Most of it (though not all) is already written. Updates will be posted on Fridays, though I plan on throwing you all the second chapter a little bit sooner than that. What can I say, I'm sitting on more than 50k of pre-written material and I like talking to my readers. 
> 
> So many thanks to [Rae](http://extranikiforov.tumblr.com), who is the chillest friend and beta I could ask for. Thank you for letting me scream since, like, July. High five @ me for keeping this a secret from all but like, five people. Hope you like it, Farasha. <3 
> 
> **EDIT: You can now read _Fated_ in Russian [here on AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13630425/chapters/31299423) and [here on Ficbook!](https://ficbook.net/readfic/6476031)** The translations were done by the amazing [@hibari-ai](https://hibari-ai.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> Rebloggable [here](http://maydei.tumblr.com/post/166117694057/title-fated-pairing-victuuri-victor). [Fated Cover Commission](http://lovelytitania.tumblr.com/post/166327502344/one-fighter-one-sacrifice-one-unit-one-team) by Asce [@Lovelytitania.](http://lovelytitania.tumblr.com/)

 

 

Mari’s bond was silver; letters in a band around her left arm that were translucent in the light like a scar.

_Relentless._

The word had been there since the day Mari turned twelve. Minako had worn the matching mark her whole life.

“It’s not something you can understand, Yuuri,” Mari said to him with a soft smile, eighteen and all-knowing. A little condescending, but not unkind. Her hands were in her hair, feeling the top of her head for the weight of her secondary ears. Domed, catlike, soft brown—gone. Her hands dropped as she looked into her bedroom mirror, and felt down her back to settle on her rear. Her tail was gone, too.

Cross-legged on his older sister’s bed, Yuuri’s tail swished against the covers in a nervous arc of soft black fur. He couldn’t read Mari like this. He had no idea what she was feeling without the perk of her ears, the twitch of her tail. Biologists theorized their characteristics evolved to help children socialize more easily and vanished upon adulthood, but there was no concrete knowledge of the reason why. Just a fact—children bore soft, fuzzy ears and tails that dropped when they reached sexual awakening and not a moment before; a visual indicator of maturity.

Yuuri was still very much a child.

He wrinkled his nose. He loved Mari, he loved Minako, but… “She’s old.”

Mari sighed softly and turned to glance over her shoulder. Her hair fell in brunette waves around her shoulders, the ends still bleached blonde. It had been getting steadily shorter and shorter lately, bits of it lobbed off and uneven until she trimmed it again. Yuuri couldn’t understand it, as much as he couldn’t understand the cuts on her knuckles and the satisfied look on her face every time she bandaged them in the bathroom in the middle of the night. Yuuri had walked in on it more than once.

“I know.” Mari’s voice was soft and faded into a quiet laugh that sounded as incredulous as Yuuri felt. Mari had just become an adult in age and status; Minako was twice her age at thirty-six. Minako had been present their whole lives as Yuuri’s beloved dance instructor, she had always been like a sister to Mari—or so he thought. He never imagined _anything_ like this.

“But Yuuri,” she said with that same laugh. “She’s mine.”

“Yours?” Yuuri’s ears perked forward; he sat with his elbows on his crossed knees, chin in his hand as he pushed his small glasses frames back up his chubby cheeks. “What do you mean? Tell me.”

Mari’s brown eyes brightened. Her smile was tight and smug, so knowing. She always knew everything. “You’ll be like me,” she said. “Someday. I can tell from the way you give those little orders. Someone will belong to you, too. Maybe they already do.”

Mari bounded to the bed and pulled his hands away; Yuuri’s glasses tumbled off his face as his chin dropped free. Mari turned his palms over, searching.

“Mari?”

“I’m just looking for your name.” She pushed up the cuffs of his sleeves to his elbows. When she found nothing, she plucked Yuuri’s glasses from the mattress and placed them carefully back on his nose.

He looked up at her, tail swishing, ears flattening. “What name?”

“Your _name_ name.” Mari pointed to her upper arm; the letters shimmered back at him. _Relentless_ , they said. Just like Mari. “If you’re like me, you’ll have one. And your partner will have it, too. It’s in a different place for every pair.”

Yuuri stared back, uncomprehending. Mari tipped her head to the side, and Yuuri caught a glimpse of her neck—two long lines of jagged, angry-looking scratches, and beneath them a claiming purple bruise.

Yuuri’s ears twitched. They blended seamlessly into his hair, that same warm black, a little too large for his head. Mari reached out to rub one between her thumb and forefinger, an affectionate smile on her face.

“You’ll get it one day,” she said as she sank down to sit on the mattress beside him. “When you have someone like I have Minako. Not everyone gets that sort of bond, but I did. You will, too.”

Yuuri shuffled, distinctly uncomfortable at the thought. His hackles raised. He hoped Mari didn’t notice. “Will they be old?”

Mari barked out a laugh; obviously she had. “Don’t be rude.” But then she got quiet; her face fell. Her ears were gone now, but Yuuri was sure they would have drooped. “I feel bad that she’s older than me. I’ve always known her, Yuuri. Always. And she’s always been there for me, even before she knew what we were.”

Mari pulled her legs up on the bed; they sat side by side, knees brushing. Yuuri glanced over at her silver scar and wondered vaguely if it’d hurt when it appeared.

“Minako lived without me for years. Years and years. I was born, and she had to wait for me to catch up, but I never had to wait at all. All this time, Yuuri, she was waiting for me. I can’t imagine what that was like.”

“Why you?”

Mari shrugged. “I don’t know. Most pairs are closer in age. We’re the furthest apart I’ve ever seen or heard of.” She leaned back until she lay across the mattress, legs dangling over the side. The sleeves of her school uniform shirt were rolled up around her armpits, her name on proud display.

Yuuri leaned back, too, her outline blurry around the edges of his glasses. Mari turned her head to look at him, then reached over to ruffle his hair.

“Do you want me to check your back?” She asked. “For your name?”

Yuuri paused. The moment stretched.

He nodded.

He sat upright and pulled his shirt over his head, small but loose; the navy polo of his school’s uniform crumpled as he dropped it to the floor. Yuuri leaned forward as Mari sat up, and he felt her fingers against his spine, cool to the touch.

“Do you see it?” Yuuri asked, equal parts anticipation and dread thick in his belly.

Mari didn’t answer right away. She turned him this way and that, then stood to circle around him and inspect him from the front. Yuuri stared up at her and tried not to feel disappointed when she shook her head.

Relief. Relief was the feeling he was looking for. Yuuri didn’t like the idea of late nights wrapping his wounds, lying to his parents. He didn’t like the idea of his hair left uneven. He didn’t like scrapes and bruises; he didn’t like getting hurt.

But the thought of having someone out there, someone who would find him, who would love him so selflessly—

—well, it was better this way.

“It might still show up,” Mari said with a firm nod. “You never know. Some people are late bloomers.”

“It’s okay,” Yuuri murmured, and reached to pull his tail around into his lap. He groomed the fur with his fingers, fussy and anxious, and did not look at her. “I love Minako-sensei, but I couldn’t date someone her age. People would say things.”

Mari’s voice was vehement when she replied, “I’m not _dating_ Minako. Societal norms have no place for people like us. _Listen to me, Yuuri.”_

And Yuuri did. He had to. Because the command in her voice was strong as her conviction, and when Yuuri looked up to meet his sister’s eyes, the fire he saw there was fierce. “It’s not something that can be questioned. It’s not something that will fade. I am hers until I die; she was mine before I was born. We’re not two people. We’re one unit. Do you understand?”

Of course he didn’t. He couldn’t. That didn’t sound right—it didn’t sound _human._

What she was talking about… it couldn’t be possible.

Yuuri shook his head and worked with single-minded focus at grooming his tail. His ears laid flat and turned back, uncomfortable against his skull.

Mari sighed. She sat beside him again.

“People have gotten hurt for these secrets. I can’t tell you the specifics,” she said gently. “It would make more sense if I could, but I’m only allowed to tell you when you find your partner. I know you will.”

Yuuri felt sick at the thought of Mari getting hurt. He felt more sick at the idea of pain, of secrets. He liked his life the way it was. Wasn’t everything already hard enough? “What if I don’t want to?”

“Don’t say that.” Mari reached over to pull Yuuri’s hands away from his tail, from the pieces of fur he was pulling from the end. It still stung, even once he stopped; Yuuri hadn’t even known he’d started. “There’s someone out there waiting for you, too.”

“I don’t have a name,” Yuuri said. He looked at Mari, the familiar older sister he’d known and loved as long as he’d been alive, and tried to take in the ways she’d changed. Harder around the edges, but softer in the eyes. Even with her bumps and bruises, she was still Mari. Still his sister. “Maybe I don’t want one.”

Mari reached over to tug at his human earlobe, strange and sensitive and a more visceral pull than he was used to. Someday those ears would be all he had left.

“Maybe you don’t want one, but if you have one, I hope you find them.” Mari wrapped one arm around his shoulders; Yuuri settled warm against her side.

She smelled like Minako’s perfume.

“Do you love her?” Yuuri asked.

Without hesitation, Mari replied, “More than anything.”

...and as odd as it still seemed for Mari to have given herself to Minako, Yuuri figured that of all the people in the world, Minako was the one he could think of who loved Mari the most, too.

Yuuri wanted to love someone like that. Someone who didn’t need his ears and tail to understand Yuuri every day, all the time.

He only hoped he didn’t need a name like Mari’s to do that.

_Relentless,_ they were called—Mari and Minako. A fitting name. A fitting title.

But Yuuri had no name. He looked for it in the changing room mirror every day. Age twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. By sixteen he gave up; he stopped checking.

Yuuri told himself he was relieved to be free of the crushing weight of a destiny larger than himself, of something more than he could control.

He kept his ears. Mari kept her secrets.

Yuuri remained nameless.

 

* * *

 

The years passed without incident. Mari and Minako were as mysterious as ever, and shortly after the first time they looked for his name, Mari moved out of the family home altogether. It was easier to live that way, to pretend that he knew nothing about her strange sort of life.

It suited Yuuri just fine.

Instead, he spent his time studying, going to middle school, then high school, eventually college. Yuuri was glad for his degree in education—he wanted to help the world, make a difference in young lives. Teaching would allow him to do that, and his hobby in skating would allow him to find peace.

He’d never broken into competitions; he was too busy for that, and Yuuri didn’t care for the competitive atmosphere. Even now at twenty-four, Yuuri was… different.

He still had his ears.

He’d never found anyone he wished to lose them to, was all. Never known anyone he trusted so much to give over his body, his heart. What use was sex, anyway? There were other ways to show love. Helping others, that was love. Kindness was love, too.

Skating was love. The motions of his body on the ice was the purest form of love Yuuri could think of. It always had been, ever since he first saw the Junior competitions on television, saw a flash of silver hair and blue eyes rendered fuzzy by the dismal resolution, his ears and tail already gone at sixteen, and—

—the next year, and all the years after, Victor Nikiforov had never competed again.

Yuuri always wondered where he’d gone, but there was nothing to it. Whether it was an injury or he’d chosen to go to school, he’d vanished off the world’s radar as a teenager, and Yuuri had filled his time with other pursuits. Education, namely, but… the love for the ice he’d inspired had never entirely faded.

He still wondered about Victor, sometimes.

Yuuri shook his head and centered himself. It wouldn’t do to get distracted when he was skating. The last thing he wanted was to get injured in what was supposed to be a relaxing practice session, taking up a few scant hours of the night after Yuuko had already locked up the doors.

Yuuri skated to the sidelines to restart his music and ignored the text message waiting from his sister. He loved Mari, but he didn’t want to think about her right now.

As the music started, Yuuri flowed through his motions, his self-made choreography that felt lovely but not particularly complex. He jumped through doubles, sliced through twizzles, and let the tension of the day, of whispered words, fade from his mind.

This was all he wanted. A simple life, a simple hobby. A few close friends like Yuuko and the chatty transfer student, Phichit. It was all he _needed._

Why wasn’t he _happy?_

The song changed. The shuffle brought up something dark, sensual, dangerous. It was one of only a few on the long playlist, but it suited Yuuri’s mood just fine. He grit his teeth and closed his eyes, found a center that he only attained while on the ice. He felt the universe around him—wispy, open air, and Yuuri _pulled._

And then he skated.

It wasn’t something he could describe. It was a feeling, the sensation of power in the world around him, and if the laws of physics weren’t quite so clear, Yuuri would swear there was something else, something _more_ in the atmosphere than oxygen, than light. He was hesitant to call it magic, but there was an energy out there that was not so easily harnessed, that he longed to draw upon if only he could figure out how.

But he could never mention it. It was more than nonsense, it was… insanity.

The universe didn’t work that way, he knew.

But when Yuuri was on the ice, when he felt the air cold and crisp around him, when he could feel the shapes and vectors created by the blades on his feet, _everything_ felt possible.

The impossible felt possible.

So Yuuri drank it in, let it empower him, and he _danced._

There was a sentiment in music that he’d never experienced himself, but that hardly mattered. When the music spoke to him, he could feel anything they ever sang about, even if it was unfamiliar and strange to him. There was power in those notes, in those voices, and Yuuri let it move him, let it call with longing he’d never felt, an affection and betrayal he’d never known.

He had no name. He had no bonds. Why did he feel so empty, then? Why did it feel like he was waiting, waiting, waiting?

What was his body aching for, he wondered? What will his soul reaching for? There was something unknowable, something untouchable, and Yuuri danced with that, flitted in and out and around that intangible shadow of the person he’d never known and the feelings he’d never felt.

_I’m here,_ he said with his hands. _I’m here,_ he said with his arms. _I’m here,_ he said with his pointed toes, his vicious spins. _Come find me, I’m here._

And then—

“Hello?”

Yuuri crashed to a stop and turned to look at the person who had entered, who stood at the door with a long coat and wide eyes and a beautiful sheet of silver hair and no ears, and—

“What are you doing here?” Yuuri demanded, defensive, and wound his arms around his body.

“I just—I was supposed to meet someone here. The door was open—” The man was as shocked as Yuuri, wide eyes, and though he had no ears to read, Yuuri knew immediately that he was set off-balance by Yuuri’s presence; he had no more idea what he was doing here than Yuuri did. It was an energy in the air, but he had a purpose, he must. He must.

“The door was not open,” Yuuri cut him off, abrupt and sharp, and his ears flattened against his scalp and tail tightly coiled around his own leg. “I locked it myself. _What are you doing here?”_

“I heard a call.” The words were strange, empty, an immediate response. “I—”  His brow furrowed, and the man stepped up to the edge of the boards. His hair was soft-looking, shiny, falling over his shoulder in a wave, the same color as the ice beneath Yuuri’s feet.

Against his better judgement, Yuuri drifted closer, drawn by a strange force. This man seemed familiar, but he would absolutely remember that sheen of silver, his strong form. So why—?

“I’m looking for Katsuki,” the man said with a sheepish shrug, a glint to his gaze—intense. Confused. Striking. “Katsuki Mari. I asked for her, but I got pointed here. My Japanese isn’t that great, I guess.”

“Oh.” Yuuri’s ears perked with interest and he looked at the man with new eyes, with slightly less suspicion. He knew Mari? “I’m Katsuki Yuuri.”

The man froze. “Yuuri?”

“Yes,” Yuuri answered. He chipped his toe pick against the ice. “Mari’s my sister. You’re her… friend?”

“More like a colleague,” he answered. His voice was strange, an echo, not quite there. And his eyes… not quite focused, either. Caught on Yuuri, though. Watching. Considering. Beautiful and blue, and—

“Wait a minute,” Yuuri said softly. “I know you. You’re—”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The door slammed open on the other side of the rink, and Yuuri whipped around and— “Mari!” he said in surprise, then glanced back to the man, and could _really_ be—? “Wait, Minako-sensei? What are you doing here?”

Mari’s teeth were bared, a frighteningly fierce expression unlike anything Yuuri had ever seen from his sister. Though she could be intense, he’d never seen her angry; he couldn’t qualify the snarl on her face now as anything but.

Minako edged in front of Mari, tall and lean and beautiful, her hair in careless waves around her face, her coat unbuttoned like she’d left home in a hurry. Even as she placed herself in front of Mari, she squared up with her rigid dancer’s spine and pulled her hair up and away from her face, tying it back into a rough bun. Perfunctory. Practical, rather than pretty.

Unlike Minako.

Oh, Yuuri didn’t like this and he couldn’t figure out why. There was a sense of deep foreboding in the air, and he edged away from the strange man if only out of loyalty, and like it or not and whatever the man said, Mari looked _anything_ but pleased to see him. Yuuri turned off his music and pressed his legs against the boards, placing as much distance as he could between himself and—well, all of them.

There was something going on here that he didn’t understand.

The man pried his eyes away from Yuuri and turned them on the women standing on the opposite side of the rink. Somehow the space between them didn’t feel like enough with the way the tension crackled. He squared off, too, shoulders back and chin raised in a stance that spoke of power.

But he was uneasy. Yuuri couldn’t say how he knew, but he knew.

The man took a deep breath, and his gloved hand fisted at his side. The air felt sharp, like pins and needles, making it hard for Yuuri to breathe. With one last perplexed glance at Yuuri, the man’s eyes fluttered closed, silver lashes brushing pale cheeks for half a second, and—

_Ping._

It was a call, but not a call. It was a sound, but not a sound. But the sensation hit Yuuri right in the chest, an inescapable beat of longing, but then—

—a boy crashed through the doors behind the silver-haired man.

Skinny, pale, blonde, his ears forward-facing and fuzzy where they peeked through his ruffled hair. He skidded to a stop on worn high-top sneakers, slender legs in ripped black jeans, wrapped in a ragged leopard-print letterman with sleeves shoved up around his forearms.

If he hadn’t placed himself squarely at the man’s side, Yuuri would have had no cause to assume they knew one another. The edgy-looking teen and the dignified man had nothing visually in common, except for the fact that their eyes were locked on Mari and Minako.

It was like Yuuri wasn’t even there.

And despite himself, what with the lingering sensation of almost-pain, he had no desire to be here, either.

Mari sneered. It was an expression out-of-place on her face, and the teenager across from her echoed the sentiment. There was a strange symmetry between the pairs that he couldn’t put his finger on.

But that didn’t matter. He had to get out of here.

Yuuri darted for the exit on swift skates, and the blond boy surged forward. Yuuri bristled with the sudden certainty that he was about to get hurt, at the aggressive set of the boy’s face and the whiplike lashing of his tail.

“No, don’t!” Mari snapped, at exactly the same time that the silver-haired man grabbed the boy by the hood of his jacket and jerked him backward.

“You know better,” he said, voice sharp with disapproval at his younger partner. “We have a mission and he’s alone, Yura, what are you thinking?”

The blonde boy (Yura, apparently) aggressively shrugged out of the man’s grasp, and his ears flattened with displeasure. The tip of his tail still twitched, his eyes set on Yuuri. “Whatever, Victor. Let’s get this over with, then.”

_Victor._

Yuuri launched himself over the boards on Mari’s side of the rink, the name echoing in his ears even as he scrambled with his phone in his hands toward his sister. Mari and Minako reached out to welcome him, pull him in, and Yuuri wobbled without his skate guards on the rubber-matted floors. Minako steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. Familiar. Comforting.

And still, Yuuri found himself looking back at the strangers across the rink, and met the sharp blue eyes of the man who had caught him alone.

“Get out of here, Yuuri,” Mari said softly.

That caught his attention, and Yuuri dragged his gaze away. Mari didn’t look at him, her attention still stuck on the others. She bristled, fists clenched, and the air crackled around them.

She wore no jacket—that was how Yuuri knew she had arrived in haste. Called by what, exactly, he had no answer.

But around her upper arm, those letters gleamed in the light.

_Relentless._

“Who are they?” Yuuri asked as he knelt, picking apart the laces on his skates with haste. His dampened socks left marks on the rubber flooring. Yuuri tied the laces together and slung them over his shoulder, rising warily to his feet once more. “What do they want?”

“Nothing good,” Minako answered, and placed an affectionate hand on his head. Yuuri looked up at her, because despite it all and the tension in the air, Minako looked like the only one who was keeping a level head. Sharp eyes, but level. Assessing. She rubbed the soft tip of his ear between her fingers, familiar and easy. “Maybe. Who knows. Either way, Yuuri, it’s time for you to go home. I expect you at practice tomorrow.”

Yuuri swallowed, his shoulders tense. “I have to lock up, you know. For Yuuko. You shouldn’t stay here.”

“We’re on our way out,” Minako assured him with a benign smile. “But if you want to leave me the keys, I’ll close up.”

It made Yuuri uneasy, but he _trusted_ Minako. With that in mind, he fished the rink keys from his sweatshirt pocket and dropped them into her waiting hand.

Yuuri’s brow furrowed. He resisted the urge to look back, and pitched his voice low between them. “I think… is that Victor Nikiforov?”

“Oh, it is,” Minako replied easily. “Make no mistake. It absolutely is.”

And that made even _less_ sense.

But Yuuri didn’t belong here. And he wanted no part in anything that was about to happen.

“Don’t hurt the rink,” was all he said, which in retrospect made no sense because _what could they possibly do?_ But the words felt right coming out of his mouth, and Mari answered with a tense nod in his periphery.

Yuuri jammed his feet into his shoes by the entryway and made a hasty retreat, a shiver racing down his spine from the tips of his ears to the end of his twitching tail.

Nothing made sense. Nothing. Not how Mari knew where to find him, or what the _hell_ he had just almost gotten mixed up in.

The back of Yuuri’s neck prickled as the rink doors swung closed behind him, and the weight of Victor’s gaze hung heavy on him the whole way home.

 

 


	2. Nameless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri was perfectly happy pretending the fight at the rink never happened—until Victor showed up the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to [Rae](http://extranikiforov.tumblr.com) who is an amazing and supportive friend and beta. Lots of love to [Farasha](http://farashasilver.tumblr.com/) who was so excited and _so_ supportive, and without whom this story would not exist. 
> 
>  

 

 

By the time morning rolled around, Yuuri had nearly convinced himself it was a dream.

He woke up early and went to class at Hasetsu College as always, filling his role as Teacher’s Assistant without any extra effort or complaint. He spent time in the campus library grading the freshmen’s assignments, and by the time he finished he’d almost forgotten.

And then he left the library.

As he emerged, the first thing he saw was a silver-haired man facing away from the door, sitting on a bench in the soft autumn sunlight. But the moment Yuuri stepped over the threshold, even without saying a word, the man straightened—

—and turned to face him with wide blue eyes.

And he _smiled._

_Victor._

“There you are!” He said cheerfully, stood from the bench in a fluid sweep. He looked so out of place—silver hair, nice coat, leather gloves, and not a backpack in sight. He laughed once like Yuuri’s presence was somehow a surprise and reached back to pull his hair over his shoulder, tugging his fingers through the strands. It glimmered like a waterfall, smooth and shiny and bright as Yuuri remembered it being on the fuzzy television screen.

Yuuri twitched and stopped in his tracks. “You’re… here.” He glanced around like Mari would show up any minute from beyond the edge of his glasses, frothing at the mouth and spitting mad. She was nowhere to be found. _“What_ are you doing here?”

“I came to apologize for interrupting your practice last night. You’re really very talented.” Victor tucked his hands into his pockets and smiled, though there was something forced about it that Yuuri didn’t quite like, beautiful as it was.

He took a step forward.

Yuuri took a step back.

Victor blinked at him, a slow gesture, and almost looked _wounded._ “I’m not going to hurt you, you know.”

“You showed up to a _locked rink_ and picked a fight with my sister,” Yuuri pointed out drily. “You said you were her friend. You were _not_ her friend.”

“I said colleague,” Victor corrected, his smile still fake, his voice mild. _“She_ showed up to pick a fight with _me_ —and that doesn’t matter now. _Relentless_ beat us into the ground; we’re going to have to figure something else out. What’s your name?”

Yuuri turned on his heel and started to walk away, unsettled. He closed his eyes and sighed when he heard the clatter of footsteps and Victor’s, “Hey, wait!”

“I already told you,” he said without turning around, feeling Victor and his persistent presence at his shoulder. It made him itch, made him anxious. There was something about this man’s entire _life_ that seemed… not quite right. “My name’s Yuuri.”

“No, I meant your _name_ name.” Victor caught up and walked at Yuuri’s side, so casual, so comfortable.

Yuuri’s ears twitched outward and stubbornly forward again. His tail whipped with irritation, unease. “It’s just Yuuri,” he said softly. “Whatever Mari is, I’m not like her. I’m not like you. I’m just a normal student.”

Victor had seemed content to follow Yuuri anywhere he was headed until now. He jotted out in front and cut Yuuri off, forcing them to an abrupt stop in the middle of the walkway. Other students swerved around them; Yuuri’s shoulders tensed, uneasy at the strange spectacle they made, at the eyes that lingered on him as they passed, the prickle of their attention on the back of his neck.

Like his ears weren’t already enough, now he had some beautiful English-speaking foreigner persistently dogging his steps. _“What?”_ He demanded desperately. “I just want to go to dance practice, what do you _want?”_

“You _have_ to have a name,” Victor said, that fake smile gone from his face. His eyes were intense, serious. “You’ve checked?”

Yuuri lowered his voice to a mortified hiss, his ears folding back flat against his skull. “I checked _everywhere,”_ he snapped. “For years. There’s _nothing._ I don’t even know what you _are_ because I’m not allowed.”

“Who says?”

Yuuri took a step back, surprised and off-kilter. “What? Mari says. Minako says.”

Victor scoffed, a contemptuous expression that looked too-sharp on his sculpted features. _“Really?_ _That’s_ how Lilia runs things here? They’re going to let you walk around pinging every radar in town just because you haven’t shown your name yet?” His eyes narrowed, but then his expression shifted and set on something more open, more friendly.

_Who the hell is Lilia?_

“If you want to know about us, I’ll tell you,” Victor said cheerfully, and held out his hand for Yuuri to take, waiting. “Anything you want to know. But not here.”

Yuuri looked at Victor’s proffered hand, then up into his face. He _looked_ friendly enough, and despite all of Yuuri’s rational instincts telling him this was a terrible idea, he was… intrigued.

Mari had never told him anything, whether it was Yuuri’s world or not. And he was curious… so, so curious. He always had been.

Would it explain anything about the nature of Mari’s relationship with Minako? About the years of bandaging her own hidden wounds in the dark? Would it explain the silver sheen of her name and the promises she said came with it, laid into the very fabric of her love and her heart?

Yuuri wanted to know. He wanted to know so bad.

Oh, this _was_ a terrible idea.

Yuuri’s tail twitched and he hitched his bag up on his shoulders. He scuffed his foot against the pavement before he straightened, decision made. “I won’t follow you,” he said.

Victor faltered, eyes wide, his hand falling to his side. Yuuri could nearly taste his surprise, his disappointment.

He bit his tongue and forced out, “But you can follow me, and I know somewhere we can talk.”

Victor brightened in a second, his eyes squinting into cheerful little crescents, his cheeks pink in the brisk autumn wind. “Oh, great!” He reached forward and took Yuuri’s hand, unoffered, unasked for. Yuuri felt a heat in his cheeks that had nothing to do with the chill as Victor wound their fingers together and situated himself firmly and happily at Yuuri’s side. “I’m at your command. Lead the way, Yuuri.”

Yuuri choked back a bewildered gurgle. His tail twitched, and it was all he could do to try and keep it away from Victor’s leg, so close to his own. The audacity! Did he not care about personal space at all? What kind of person was Victor that he could fight with Yuuri’s sister the night before, then show up at his school like nothing had happened the very next day?

This was all sorts of trouble. If Mari knew, she would kill him.

But Yuuri wanted answers more than he cared about his sister’s opinions… at least for today.

And there were some answers he wanted that only Victor could give him.

With a stubborn blush and a twitch of his ears, Yuuri grit his teeth and led Victor away from the prying eyes of all his classmates—the earless man who was impossible to miss, who had wrapped himself around Yuuri, well-known TA and the most glaringly visible campus virgin.

It was a bad idea and Yuuri knew it, but he wasn’t gonna let that stop him.

He wanted answers. Victor had them.

That was all that mattered.

 

* * *

 

The picnic area was deserted at this time of afternoon, wooden tables all weathered by time. Over their heads, the leaves were only just beginning to change from green to brilliant gold, the faint taste of decay nearly intangible on the back of Yuuri’s tongue. He pulled Victor to a table on the far edge of the clearing and beckoned for him to sit. Yuuri climbed into the seat opposite him, careful not to squish his tail beneath him, his backpack leaning against the bench at his feet.

Victor was tall; as such his legs were long, and his knees bumped against Yuuri’s under the tabletop. Even when Yuuri tried to shuffle them away, there didn’t seem to be a place that their legs wouldn’t brush, if only a little. It unsettled him, but Victor didn’t seem to mind. His smile was placid, peaceful as he tilted his head back to look at the leaves and the sheet of his hair tumbled down his back.

 _Does he still skate?_ Yuuri wondered. Victor’s cheekbones cut figures as sharp as he had once made with his blades on the ice. It would be an awful shame if Victor didn’t anymore. His beauty and grace all those years ago had been unparalleled. Now, even twelve years later, Victor moved like a dancer as he walked at Yuuri’s side.

“I love this time of year,” Victor murmured, breaking the uneasy silence that had, like many things, been one-sided on Yuuri’s part. “It’s never too warm or too cold. I like the colors when the leaves change. I don’t usually get to see it in St. Petersburg. You have such different trees here. The drive from the airport to Hasetsu was all forest and ocean. It’s beautiful.”

The sunlight caught the blue of Victor’s eyes and lit them up bright, more vibrant than the seas or the sky. The television had never done them justice. “I like autumn,” Yuuri agreed quietly.

He had so many questions. Too many. He didn’t know where to start or what to say.

When Victor turned his damnably bright eyes back to Yuuri, his smile was warm. “That’s one thing we have in common, then.”

Yuuri frowned, glancing down at the wooden planks of the table and picking at it with the edge of his fingernail. His ears fluttered as a breeze cut through the clearing. “What does that matter?”

“We should get to know each other.” Victor reached across the table, his gloved fingertips brushing the back of Yuuri’s hand. The leather was cold to the touch, and Yuuri twitched out of his grasp. The look Victor fixed him with was not quite a pout—something a little more complicated than that. “Why are you pulling away?”

“I brought you here to answer my questions,” Yuuri replied sharply, determinedly _not_ flustered, despite the way his ears turned out to the sides and betrayed his truth. “So answer them.”

Victor sat his elbow on the tabletop, his chin in his palm, and looked at Yuuri like he was the only thing around worth looking at. “So _ask_ them.”

Yuuri bristled, fidgeting as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose for lack of anything better. Victor’s face lit up, his lips curling upward in a smirk that Yuuri found both categorically attractive and _annoying._

“You’re cute when you do that,” Victor said easily, like such things could be said to just anyone. Maybe when you were stunning and vibrant and impossible to look away from, there were no consequences for saying anything that came to mind. Yuuri couldn’t imagine ever having that sort of confidence.

He bit down on a frown and steeled himself. His tail lashed once in frustrated irritation, and he didn’t dignify Victor’s words with a direct response. “How do you know my sister?”

Victor tapped his index finger idly against his cheek. “I didn’t until last night. I knew _of_ her, and I was told where to find her.”

“Why?”

 _“Relentless_ was relevant to my mission. I needed to defeat them to get information. We lost.” Victor frowned at that, a dissatisfied little expression that put a wrinkle between the silver lines of his brows. He didn’t seem upset, at least not as such. Resigned, perhaps.

But—“What do you mean _defeat?_ ” Yuuri asked, and sat up a little straighter. His eyes scanned Victor’s face. “You don’t look hurt.”

“I wouldn’t,” Victor answered on a sigh. “I’m just a Fighter. Yura—well, Yuri, really—is my Sacrifice.”

The words made no sense, and Yuuri had no context for which they would _make_ sense. _Fighter? Sacrifice?_

Victor leaned forward, too, his eyes fixed on Yuuri in serious contemplation. “You look confused.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Yuuri answered honestly. He tapped his finger against the soft wood of the table, dug his fingernail in until it left a perfect crescent shape that Victor glanced at for a few moments too long. “I don’t know anything about what Mari’s involved in. Not specifics, anyway. I know that until she moved out, she’d come home in the night covered in injuries that she’d hide from our parents. I know that she has the word _Relentless_ written on her body like a brand. And I know that she got involved with my teacher who’s twice her age, and when I tried to tell her it was weird, she said it wasn’t something I could understand.”

Yuuri’s hand tightened into a fist on the tabletop. Victor’s eyes lingered on the back of his hand with an indiscernible expression, and then finally turned away with something Yuuri could recognize on sight.

_Longing._

“Mari and Minako are bonded,” Victor said softly. “And they share the name _Relentless._ They’re two halves of a whole unit. A matched Fighter and Sacrifice.” Victor picked at the wrist cuff of one of his gloves, eyes cast downward. The gentle tone of his voice was wistful, easily carried away as the breeze picked up again and ruffled through his hair.

And again Yuuri said, “I don’t know what that means.”

Victor blinked. His eyes were pulled back to Yuuri at the same time that his foot brushed Yuuri’s ankle under the bench. Yuuri shivered and startled—not only at the unexpected touch, but at the cold chill as his jeans were pushed up around his calf. He pulled away, hastily kicking the leg of his jeans down with his other shoe.

Victor huffed, but at least the edge of sadness had disappeared from his eyes. “You really don’t know?”

Yuuri was about a second from tucking his legs underneath him on the bench; if they fell asleep, be damned. “I wouldn’t be talking to you if I knew.”

Victor reached out again toward Yuuri, grabbing one of his hands in both of his own. _“Yuuuuuri,_ I’m going to start to think you don’t like me!”

Yuuri felt the heat in his cheeks spread like a fire to his ears. He was sure he was flushed and blotchy and unattractively ruddy all over. His ears folded down and he twisted his hands out of Victor’s grip. “I don’t even know you! Do you touch everyone this much?”

That, if nothing else, seemed to give Victor pause. He drew back and away, looking lost for a moment—not focused on Yuuri for a handful of seconds that seemed almost infinite. He crossed his arms over his chest and tucked his hands within them, forcing a perfect smile with too many teeth that set Yuuri on edge.

_Fake._

“Sorry,” Victor said brightly. “You’re right, where are my manners?”

It was unsettling to have that expression leveled directly on him, Yuuri decided. He didn’t like it any more than he liked when Mari danced around a topic, when Minako brushed off his questions.

He was sick of the bullshit. Yuuri drummed his fingers on the tabletop in a rolling cascade and set his jaw. “I want the answers you promised me, Victor. _Tell me_ what you know!”

There was a flutter in Victor’s temple, a twitch in his jaw, and then— “Fighters and Sacrifices make up a unit that can take place in a spell battle,” he bit out. Victor closed his eyes, pained. “Fighters weave spells with their words, and the Sacrifice endures the battle damage inflicted by the enemy’s Fighter. The first unit’s Sacrifice to be completely restrained loses the fight. I—”

Victor’s lip curled in a snarl, and he cut himself off. He laughed once, a bitter thing, and when his eyes opened again they were wild. “—I can’t believe they never told you. All this time, they could have been training you—”

“In magic?” Yuuri echoed, the words sounding hollow. “And spells, and— _that’s_ what you expect me to believe?” There was an itch under Yuuri’s skin, something reacting in a visceral way to Victor’s words, his demeanor, so different from how he’d conducted himself before.

The air around Yuuri prickled against his skin. The energy he’d always been so sensitive to in times of stress and despair was even more clear to him now, especially with Victor’s voice so raw. Yuuri wanted to push himself up and away from this table, he wanted to—to _run._

_Something._

His tail thumped once against the bench, a sharp lash that echoed up through the body of his spine. “How can I? You’re asking me to believe in the impossible.”

“You’ve seen your sister’s name,” Victor said. He tipped his head to the side and his bangs slipped out from behind his ear, wispy in the sunshine like water vapor, sticking to his cheeks and eyelashes. He huffed once, a short burst of breath, and swiped them away with one hand that he then tucked back into the cradle of his own arms. “You’re telling me that you don’t sense it? Sense _all_ of this?” Victor gestured with his chin, and Yuuri looked around—at the trees, at the grass, everything. “Not even when you skate?”

 _Caught._ Yuuri bristled defensively, because Victor was too damned perceptive for a man who decided that Yuuri was interesting on a whim. Uncomfortable at being put on the spot, Yuuri fired back. “If you care so much, why did you stop?”

Yuuri didn’t know what he expected. Victor’s wistful sigh as he tipped his head back was not quite it, eyes drifting up to the leaves once more. “I never wanted to stop. But my name appeared when I was a teenager and I got pulled into the Academy for training. After that, I didn’t have time for anything else—not competing, anyway. I still skate when I can. It’s not as often as I’d like.”

It seemed too cruel to consider that anyone could have taken Victor away from the ice. He had been so singular, so untouchable. And he had left for what—to be hidden away? “An academy?”

“The Seven Voices,” Victor answered, head still tipped skyward. “At their prime, there were seven academies in seven countries where Fighters and Sacrifices were trained and matched. Now there are only three, and the seven head positions were reallocated between them. There’s one here, the one in Russia, and one somewhere in North America.”

“Why?”

Victor laughed and finally looked back at Yuuri again. “I wish I knew. No one knows why the original academies were established anymore, or what purposes Fighters and Sacrifices served before _Beloved_ came along.”

Yuuri blinked, the weight of those words settling heavily between them. Victor looked down at the tabletop and slowly unwound his arms, laying both hands palm-down against the wood. When he spoke, his voice was soft between them.

“There was a Sacrifice named _Beloved_ who was part of the old Seven Moons, but he turned against them. He wiped out most of the academies. All the matched pairs, all the young trainees. No one knows how or why he did what he did, but he killed everyone. Adults and kids. And he made off with unthinkable amounts of data, the old databases, all the established algorithms to find Fighters and Sacrifices before their names appeared. The data for matching pairs. Things we may never be able to get back.”

Victor’s breath left him in a long exhale, shuddery and quiet, and continued. Yuuri didn’t know why, really, but he listened.

“They say he had two Fighters. Not only his matched, but a Blank that he’d placed his name on. He was… cruel. He hurt them. He hurt everyone. Not only the lives he took, but the data he stole. Because of _Beloved,_ there are whole generations who are wandering around not knowing how to find their match, operating blind.”

It was more information than Yuuri knew what to do with. He didn’t understand the relevance, but…

Yuuri tried to imagine a world in which Mari would willingly hurt Minako.

He couldn’t.

Yuuri’s ears swept down, trembling, and he stared at where Victor’s fists had clenched on the tabletop. He was shaking. Even if Yuuri didn’t have the ability to understand the history, Victor was in pain. Yuuri reached out tentatively, and laid a hand over the back of Victor’s. Simple. An easy touch.

Victor pulled his hand away.

Stung, surprised, Yuuri stared as Victor kept his eyes lowered and—

—pulled off his glove.

The word _Fated_ glimmered silver on the back of Victor’s right hand, a vertical line of letters from his wrist to the base of his ring finger.

Yuuri stared. He’d seen Mari’s name more times than he could count, and had seen Minako’s match time and time again at dance practice. It had seemed strange then, inexplicable for two people to share a mark like that.

He’d never seen anything like it on anyone else.

It made it seem… somehow real.

Yuuri stared. Victor placed his hand back into Yuuri’s where it still lay outstretched. Yuuri reached out with his other hand, too, but paused—was he allowed to touch? Was it rude? He was just so curious, but he didn’t know what kind of manners existed in this world Victor spoke of, of magic and spells and a concept of pairs that sounded strangely close to soulmates.

Maybe there was no red thread for people like Victor. Maybe there were only silver letters.

When Yuuri met Victor’s eyes, his hand hesitating in midair, Victor nodded.

So Yuuri touched.

There were no raised lines or divots—nothing textural under his fingers to reveal the shape of the word. Even so, Yuuri’s fingertips tingled. The letters were pale as a scar, but crisp and clear to read, slightly opalescent.

_Fated._

“It’s beautiful,” Yuuri admitted quietly. “That’s… it’s a really nice name.”

“Our names are our nature. I am the Fighter for _Fated,”_ Victor answered quietly, proudly, and when Yuuri glanced up he looked truly pleased at the praise. “Your sister, _Relentless_ —a name never lies.”

“Fated,” Yuuri said. It fell easily from his mouth. Comforting, in a way. Even as a person who had rebelled against fate for his whole life, Yuuri could… see the appeal. “And the boy, the other Yuri—he has the other half?”

Victor stilled.

Eyes cast downward, he murmured, “No, not yet. But I’ve been told that he will.”

“Told?” Victor’s hand was still warm from being hidden in the glove; Yuuri’s felt much more cold when Victor eventually took it back and pulled the leather back over his fingers. He shook himself. Now was hardly the time. “Told by who?”

“My mentor,” Victor answered, and this time when his foot brushed Yuuri’s under the table, Yuuri didn’t pull away. Victor sighed quietly and shrugged. “I’ve been waiting all this time, only knowing his name. Yura came to the Academy last year and we were preemptively paired. His name still hasn’t shown up, but…” Victor laughed once and dropped his chin into his palm.

He looked tired, Yuuri thought.

“Who else could it be?” Victor asked, more to himself than anything. He turned the heavy weight of his eyes on Yuuri. “They say Fighters and Sacrifices inevitably find each other, but because there were so few of us left, Yakov took me in alone. I was raised there. My name didn’t show up until late, either. Yura’s still even younger than I was.”

Yuuri sat up a little straighter. “He only arrived last year?”

With a ghost of a frown, Victor nodded. “Why?”

Yuuri huffed. He pushed his glasses up his nose again absent-mindedly, and tried to ignore the gentle heat he felt in his cheeks. “No, it’s nothing, I just…”

“Hmm?”

“If _you_ were taken when you were a teenager, that’s just… a long time to be alone,” Yuuri finished.

The sun above was bright, the wood of the table damp and cool. The only sound was the rustle of the leaves and Victor’s labored swallow.

And then, nearly-silent and gently bitter, Victor laughed. It grew, built into something louder, still tinged with an edge that made Yuuri hurt for him. Yuuri knew from the unpleasant shiver down his spine that Victor’s real laugh would not be so jagged, so broken. The sound fell away after a time, and the smile Victor had forced to accompany it was anything but happy.

Yuuri wanted to make it better, but didn’t know how. His ears drooped uncertainly. “You have each other now, though. Isn’t that good?”

Under the table, Victor’s foot turned and hooked around the back of Yuuri’s ankle. It lingered. Victor’s eyes fluttered closed and he tipped his head back, the sunlight falling in warm lines across his face that lit him up glowing and gold. “Underneath it all,” Victor said quietly, “Yura’s a nice boy.”

That was not an answer—especially considering that Mari had never been able to do anything but wax poetic about Minako, ever since she had been a teenager and had admired the way Minako danced, her grace. Even before Mari got her name, she had been enamored. Enthralled. There had never been a time that Mari _hadn’t_ been that far gone.

But… _oh._

“And you’re sure he’s the one?” Yuuri asked, and lifted his toe from the ground to tap against the back of Victor’s calf, still wrapped around his.

Victor lifted a shoulder and dropped it, a rough shrug. He didn’t raise his head to look at Yuuri again. “The matching algorithms are gone, but I was given a name. His name. He’s the only one that makes sense. What else can I do? His name will appear eventually, and then…” Victor sighed. “It’s just…”

“I don’t know anything about your world,” Yuuri admitted simply enough. “But you don’t sound happy.”

“You obviously know enough to pick up what Yakov hasn’t,” Victor replied, terse. This time, Yuuri could tell it was an aged frustration; not caused by or directed at him.

“And I know Yura is less than thrilled with me. We’re very different people. I guess it’s just… not what I was told being matched would feel like. It’s not what I expected. It’s not like what the other pairs seem to have. If this is really all it is, were they just _exaggerating_ all this time, or is there just something wrong with me? Maybe I’ve just been alone for too long and I—” Victor cut himself off with a sharp, bitter laugh. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you this when I was meant to be answering your questions.”

“Oh.” Lost in listening to Victor, Yuuri had forgotten. But one question stood out at the forefront of his mind, begging to be asked—perhaps the most obvious. “You said you have a mission that had to do with Mari, and defeating her and Minako in a battle—or whatever it is, I guess. Spells. You know.”

Yuuri rubbed at the back of his neck, embarrassed and uncertain. The words felt fanciful and impossible as they came out of his mouth. He trailed his hand through his hair, then pushed his glasses up his nose once more. A nervous habit, he supposed. He had plenty of those.

But Victor’s full attention was on him now, complete with sharp blue eyes that followed his every move and pinned Yuuri down. The tip of his tail twitched, one ear fluttering in an anxious tic that drew Victor’s gaze up and back down again.

“So I guess I’m just wondering… why?”

“Why what?” Victor leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. At Yuuri’s frown, he clarified, “I just want to be sure I’m answering the right question. Why am I here? Why _Relentless?_ ”

Yuuri nodded. “Both.”

Victor hummed in consideration, his breath leaving him in a sigh. “Yakov would be upset with me if he knew I told just anyone… but you’re not just anyone, are you? You’re Mari’s family, and maybe you can help me.” Victor sat his chin atop his folded hands, and the wind breezed through his hair. Strands of silver caught in his lashes, on the curves and dips of his cheeks and his lips. Victor didn’t seem to notice. “Okay. I came to Japan because we got a lead on the location of the matching data. Yura and I were sent to retrieve it.”

Yuuri squinted. “From Mari?” He couldn’t imagine her withholding that sort of information—not from what Victor had said about it. The data needed to find matched pairs before they showed their names… Mari valued her love with Minako too highly, Yuuri was sure. She wouldn’t keep something like that away from anyone else. He didn’t need to know about Fighters and Sacrifices to know that.

Victor shook his head and brushed the hair from his eyes. He reached out across the table, a strange, wistful expression on his face as he picked up Yuuri’s hand in his own and turned it over. It was still just skin, same as the day Yuuri had been born. No mark, no silver sheen, no letters, not even any scars or birthmarks. Just the lingering tan from his months outside in the summer, which would fade into a pale brown when the winter months finally arrived.

“No, but from the woman who taught Mari what she knows. Minako’s mentor, Lilia Baranovskaya.” Victor turned Yuuri’s hand palm-up again, then traced his gloved finger over each of the lines etched deep in Yuuri’s skin.

Yuuri’s subsequent shudder raised the hair on his tail and vibrated up his spine, tingling in the tips of his ears at that strange, intimate touch. Too familiar, and Victor’s eyes on him were too knowing. “I—” Yuuri cleared his throat at the shiver in his voice and tried again. “I haven’t heard that name. If Mari knows her, I’ve never met her.”

“That’s not surprising.” Victor’s voice was barely a murmur, and whether it was pitched that low because Victor was mostly talking to himself, or if it was because it was meant for Yuuri’s ears only, well—that was up to debate. Yuuri still went pink in the cheeks at the sound of it, at least until Victor’s voice turned sour. “She would be deep in seclusion. After she stole the data and abandoned Yakov, I would be surprised if she showed her face often.”

Yuuri was starting to get the sense that the tone of rampant distaste wasn’t common from Victor. Or, at the very least, it was reserved for those who most deserved it. “Who’s Yakov?”

 _“My_ mentor,” Victor answered. His hand tightened around Yuuri’s. “And Lilia’s Fighter. She chose him more than forty years ago, only to leave him alone and suffering. It isn’t right for a Fighter and Sacrifice to live apart. Even if the name had to be placed instead of being intrinsic.”

Yuuri’s fingers were starting to ache. Name _placed_ —?

“Some Fighters are born without names,” Victor added, his eyes flicking upward. He read the spaces that Yuuri’s silences left with unsettling ease. “Blank Fighters. If a Sacrifice has been left alone, a new Fighter can be assigned by placing the name. Sometimes with ink. Sometimes… in crueler ways. It’s said that _Beloved_ placed his name with a knife.”

Victor lowered their joined hands down to the table, maybe with a little more force than strictly necessary. Yuuri’s knuckles stung; Victor smoothed them over with his thumb almost absentmindedly, lost in his bitter conviction. “But Lilia chose Yakov, for better or for worse. The name is on him forever, even though she’s betrayed him and left him.”

Yuuri absorbed this. The most obvious question to follow it would be _why?_ But something else seemed more pressing. “What about Blank Sacrifices?”

Victor blinked slowly, jarred from his train of thought. “What?”

“Blank Sacrifices,” Yuuri repeated. “That can be assigned to any Fighter.”

Victor recoiled, his hand snatched away. The expression he turned on Yuuri was stung, a bit horrified, as if Yuuri had suggested something terrible. Maybe he had.

“No. That could never exist.” He took a deep breath, then centered himself. When he continued, his voice seemed a bit more steady. “Sacrifices aren’t interchangeable like Fighters. A Sacrifice is like—like the nervous system. Limbs can be lost and replaced with prostheses, but if the brain is destroyed—”

Yuuri’s ears twitched, and he leaned forward, intrigued. “So the Sacrifice—”

“The Sacrifice _is_ the name,” Victor affirmed. He glanced down at his hands, concealed in leather. “They’re the heart. The mind. The Sacrifice bears a Fighter’s pain, but they execute the battle’s will. The Sacrifice determines whether you win or lose.”

Yuuri didn’t notice how used to Victor’s warmth he’d gotten until his leg was pulled back, leaving Yuuri feeling strange and cold.

“Fighters are… made to be clever. Good with words. But the Sacrifice is everything the Fighter lives for and gives every order they follow. Fighters without Sacrifices are… useless.”

Victor’s chin tucked down, contrite; the ends of his long hair dragged against the dirty picnic table, against the months of rain and outdoor grime. It set Yuuri on edge to see Victor so _docile_ , and then he realized exactly what Victor had said.

No. _No._

“You’re not,” Yuuri said.

Blue eyes searching, disbelieving, Victor looked up.

“You’re _not,”_ Yuuri repeated. “I don’t—I don’t _care_ that I don’t _know_ about what goes on with you in your world. You’re not useless. Your mentor sent _you,_ matched or not, right?”

Victor blinked slowly. “I—yes. He did.”

“And he could have chosen anyone, so he chose you for a reason. I’m guessing he trusts you.” Yuuri sat up straight and nodded once, convinced. His ears perked upright, alert, attentive, and his tail looping in a lazy curl behind him. “Which means you’re good and he values you. I don’t know much about what Mari does, but… I know she’s stubborn. And that she and Minako are really close. They’ve been together since I was a kid—more than ten years now. So if you’re talking about, like, science and metaphors and stuff, about being one body—don’t you think they have a lot of practice? You just met Yuri last year. That’s not your fault. He’s just a kid.”

Victor stared back, and then his gaze went distant, just slightly unfocused. He had been caught up in some flurry of thought that had swept him away. “I never really… but I suppose… if we weren’t conflicting, maybe…”

Yuuri shuffled and pulled his legs up until his knees were underneath him on the bench and he could get the leverage to lean forward, tail out as an instinctual counterbalance behind him. Firmly now in Victor’s face and drawing his attention, Yuuri took a deep breath to steel his fluttering heart against the pretty shine of Victor’s eyes. “You’re thinking too much about magic and not enough about common sense. The real world might not be _your_ world, but it’s still here. You need to think like a person, not like some—some battle robot.”

Victor’s lips parted slightly, staring up at Yuuri like he’d never quite seen him before. That strange, distant sheen was gone—it left behind only Victor’s careful consideration and the light that clearly signified something had _clicked_ in his mind. “You’re right. I can’t outmatch them. I need to think about this some more and come up with a better idea. You’re so smart, Yuuri.”

Taken aback and flattered all at the same time, Yuuri used his hands to walk himself back across the table and into his seat. “Oh. I, um. I’m in the education track. Critical thinking is important.”

“Wow! Really?” Victor tipped his head to the side with a genuine smile, then glanced around the open picnic area, the distant buildings of the college: sufficiently pulled back into _this_ world, the real world. The one where Yuuri lived and Victor… didn’t. “Mm, I helped teach at the academy back home. Well, I guess I was more like a trainer or a coach. I’m a master-class spellweaver with a focus on visualization and manifesting alternate reality.”

The words were said so casually, like one would refer to their major at school—it knocked Yuuri for a loop, and he sat back on his haunches. “You… have a master’s degree in magic?”

“Oh!” Victor laughed outright, bright and shining in the sun. “I suppose you could say that.” He leaned back in a catlike arch, the barely audible _pops_ of his spine drawing a satisfied huff of breath. He turned sideways on the picnic bench and stood, stretching his arms high above his head, and—

—Victor was _tall._ And with the way the fabric of his long coat clung to his body, Yuuri felt confident in saying he was… in wonderful shape.

Yuuri flushed. He pushed up, too, and scooped up his backpack to shrug it back onto his shoulders. Victor watched him with an absently attentive smile, focused, but not so sharp as to put Yuuri on edge. When Yuuri passed by him, Victor was quick to catch up and bump their shoulders together as they walked. “Where are we headed?”

“We—?”

“I don’t have anything to do, so I figure I’ll tag along. Do you have class? I’ve never been to a real college course before. Is it hard?”

“I—no—it just takes focus,” Yuuri blustered, off-kilter. “I don’t have class. I’m supposed to go to dance practice.”

“You dance?” Victor asked with a smile. “I can picture that. What kind?”

Yuuri flushed, but Victor’s strange curiosity was slowly becoming more and more endearing rather than feeling invasive. “Ballet, mostly. Some contemporary. Oh, but…”

Yuuri stopped. Victor walked another few steps before he paused and turned back to face him. “Hmm?”

Yuuri kicked at a spot in the grass, eyes downcast. He didn’t exactly want to send Victor away, but… “Minako is my dance instructor, so I don’t know… she doesn’t allow visitors,” Yuuri said as graciously as he could manage.

“Oh.” Victor blinked again, some of the wind evidently taken out of his sails. He recovered quickly, though, and with an overly-bright smile that didn’t quite ring true. “That’s okay. I should find Yura anyway—”

“Victor.”

Victor shut up. He shrugged once, half-hearted, and looked at Yuuri with a more honest, sheepish smile. “I know I can’t bother you all the time. I just like your company. I think you’re interesting.”

Yuuri hesitated. “Not because I’m Mari’s brother?”

He wasn’t sure why that mattered, or why he cared. None of it was anything to do with him.

But it was still a nice confirmation when Victor earnestly shook his head and stepped closer, reaching out to gently flick the tip of Yuuri’s fuzzy ear. Yuuri went red from his chest to his cheekbones in an instant—the gesture among family was familiar and comforting, but with a veritable stranger it was… intimate. He shivered as Victor nudged the shell of it back and forth with his fingertip, head tipped to the side, warmly observing. “You’re interesting on your own.”

Yuuri’s tail lashed from side to side. Victor seemed charmed by that, too—at least until he reached to tug it and Yuuri smacked his hand away, scandalized.

“It’s been so long since I had them!” Victor said by way of explanation, tamping down on a bright smile that was suspiciously heart-shaped, and left his lips in a shapely cupid’s bow of gentle amusement. “I forgot how expressive premature features could be.”

And, well, if Victor meant to charm _Yuuri,_ he had had exactly the wrong thing. Yuuri crossed his arms tightly over his body and scowled. “I manage just fine with my _premature features._ ”

“Oh?” Victor’s eyes went wide, then shocked as Yuuri started to march pointedly past him. “Yuuri! I didn’t mean that as an insult! I think they’re cute!”

“You have your own _premature_ person to deal with!” Yuuri said with a huff, not deterred. Really. Victor was going to be rude and handsy about Yuuri’s ears and tail, and then he was going to—what? Fetishize them? No thanks. There were enough people out there who fantasized about taking someone’s ears. If Victor was that kind of person, Yuuri wanted nothing to do with it, attraction be damned.

“Yura’s a child,” Victor scoffed in return, and _damn_ those long legs for letting Victor cut him off without looking any the worse for wear, not a hair out of place in that perfect sheet that tumbled down his back. They returned to a stubborn standstill again. “I’m sorry if I offended you. I didn’t mean to imply anything.” Victor’s eyes were on Yuuri’s and he was doing quite well about it—at least until Yuuri’s ears twitched again, and he was distracted.

Yuuri hissed out a sigh. Victor looked properly cowed at his displeasure.

“You’re just… I find it hard to stay away from you. So I’m… surprised,” Victor said softly. “That you still have them, I mean. I don’t mean anything by it. For all my experience with words, I put my foot in my mouth sometimes.”

“I—” Face hot and struck dumb, on the cusp of being both flattered and offended, Yuuri took his turn to put his own damn foot in his mouth.

“I always wanted the kind of thing Mari had, so I never—!” Yuuri clamped a hand over his face, sending his glasses askew, his ears flattening to his skull with his embarrassment. “Forget it. It’s a stupid reason.”

But when Yuuri peeked through his fingers, Victor looked… fond. “That’s the best reason.”

Yuuri swallowed and put himself back together with a huff, pushing his glasses up a little too far and too rough. The bridge of his nose smarted with it, and yet he was too embarrassed to fix them again. He stood up straight, outrageously so. “I have to go to dance practice. You _should_ find Yuri. If he’s young as you say, you shouldn’t leave him alone in a strange country. Who knows what he could get into?”

Victor tucked his hands into his pockets, casual as you please. He smiled. “Mmhm, you’re probably right. I _should_ find him. Have a good afternoon, Yuuri. I hope I see you again!”

And Yuuri hurried off without a proper reply, tail literally tucked between his legs, and like it or not he _was_ sure that he’d run into Victor again.

All things considered, probably sooner rather than later.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember that regular updates will now resume on Fridays, and weekly on Fridays after that. 
> 
> [Rebloggable post.](http://maydei.tumblr.com/post/166219897202/title-fated-pairing-victuuri-victor)


	3. Homeless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor and Yuri get involved in Yuuri’s life even more than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again! Gentle reminder that updates will be on Fridays only from here on out. I'll be abroad next Friday, but I hope to be able to draft this and post it from overseas! 
> 
> Thank you as always to [Rae](http://extranikiforov.tumblr.com) for being a fantastic beta. 
> 
> Also!! [Asce](http://lovelytitania.tumblr.com) has drawn me an absolutely BEAUTIFUL commission for Fated that has now been embedded into the first chapter as a cover. You can find this fantastic art [here](http://lovelytitania.tumblr.com/post/166327502344/one-fighter-one-sacrifice-one-unit-one-team). I laid up late one night watching her stream it for me and it was, like, the most magical experience of my life. 

 

 

If he’d hoped for an unseasonably warm evening, Yuuri’s hopes were dashed when he stepped out of the studio into the brisk wind and was immediately wracked by shivers. Pulling his jacket tighter around his sweat-damp body and flipping his hood up over his ears, Yuuri hunched his shoulders and made himself small as he headed for home.

Practice at Minako’s had been grueling. He’d done his best to focus like she’d wanted, but Victor’s presence from earlier in the afternoon had weighed heavily on his mind. It took nearly an hour to finally lose himself to the music, to the movements, to dancing in sync beside his teacher—and once he did, it was almost enough to forget how Victor had held his hand, let their legs bump under the table. How he had insinuated himself so seamlessly and unapologetically at Yuuri’s side.

It felt _right._ In fact, it was much too soon to feel as right as it did. And he had no guarantee that he would even see Victor again.

Yuuri huffed as the wind picked up, cutting between the buildings set close together, his aching feet following the familiar path home.

It was only a mile or two from the studio to the onsen, which lingered ever-present and historic at the edge of town. Yuuri’s family had owned it for years, and it was the only inn of its kind left in the district. They relied heavily on the presence of summer tourists, the last of which would soon be heading home for what promised to be a cold autumn and colder winter. For the moment, though, their inn was nearly full, and his mother needed all the help she could get.

Yuuri frowned regretfully at the boxy shape of the Ice Castle as he passed it by, promising he would make time tomorrow to practice. As it was, his workload tonight would be enough to keep him up late without sparing those extra few hours to skate. But he had to wonder—was the rink in the same shape he had left it? Though he’d had Mari and Minako’s promise they’d be careful with _whatever_ they were doing, he hadn’t been back since last night.

(At least Yuuko hadn’t texted him. He had to figure that if she hadn’t sent him any demanding messages, everything had been left in good shape. Or so Yuuri told himself.)

Yuuri sighed and turned his eyes back toward the bridge, the first of the street lamps just starting to light up as the sun lowered in the sky. There was still a warm glow cast onto the sparse and low-hanging clouds, but much of the lingering warmth of the day was swept away with the breeze. Yuuri hated the feeling of his ears being squished down by his jacket hood, but there was nothing to it—even with the downy fuzz, the skin of them was thin and fragile and just as capable of catching cold as anything else, and the drone of the wind catching in the rounded shells was one of Yuuri’s least-favorite sounds.

The roar of the ocean grew louder as Yuuri started across the bridge; the distant calls of the gulls were comforting in their familiarity. And then he faltered.

At the halfway point of the bridge over the sound, Victor was there—and he was not alone.

In fact, he seemed to be arguing with the younger Yuri. How long it had taken Victor to find him, Yuuri couldn’t be sure—or why they seemed to be bickering on the sidewalk on the very bridge that led to his home. It was a popular hangout spot during nicer weather, sure. But the evening hours were fast approaching, and Yuuri was sure there were other, better places they could be.

Victor had his back turned to him, but Yuuri could hear the frustrated tones of a foreign language being swept away and out over the ocean. His hair was a mess, whipping in silver tendrils around his face, getting caught on the high collar he had turned up against the breeze. But it was his hair that was unmistakable, even as Victor finally had enough of his argument and turned away from Yuri, a hair elastic held between his teeth as he gathered the strands together into a rough bun at the nape of his neck.

He didn’t notice Yuuri at first, and Yuuri would later realize it was because he was nondescript in his jacket and jeans and carrying his backpack, looking for all the world like some other college student. Either way, Yuuri really didn’t want to get wrapped up in whatever disagreement they were having—but what else could he do? Cross the street? It seemed somehow rude and definitely unnecessary. He might even draw more attention darting across the bridge with no safe crossing, an anomaly in an otherwise peaceful scene.

Victor cast him a cursory glance as he grew closer, and had started to turn back to his young companion—and then he froze. Whipped around. Eyes wide and blue and locked on Yuuri like a homing beacon, head tipped to the side to catch a glimpse of his face under the hood.

It was a complete accident when Yuuri made eye contact, but that was enough. Victor recognized him immediately, and Yuuri’s heart was crawling up his throat as Victor lit up with inexplicable joy. He threw an arm in the air in greeting. “Yuuri!”

Oh god. He should have known there was no way to get out of this, because _naturally_ Yuuri was absolutely disgusting and exerted and _exhausted_ and Victor looked—

—wow, Victor looked in quite a state, himself.

There were dark circles under his eyes that Yuuri hadn’t noticed earlier that afternoon, or maybe they were just exacerbated by the shadows cast by the setting sun. Though his hair was mussed, it was starting to get stringy in a way Minako usually complained about her own after practice. With a jolt, he realized that Victor was probably wearing the same clothes as he had last night—he carried no visible luggage, though when he shifted his weight to one side, Yuuri caught a glimpse of a heavy-looking duffel bag that Yuri had dropped at their feet.

Yuuri wondered the last time they had gotten a chance to sleep or bathe.

And if Victor looked a wreck, his young companion looked worse, and bore the distinct aura of an exhausted child a hair’s breadth from a meltdown. With a glower on his face he pushed Victor aside with a firm shove to his chest and marched out in front of him, target locked directly on Yuuri with ears pointed and tail lashing.

“You!” He snapped. “What the hell are you doing here, Katsuki? You better get lost, or—”

Yuuri bristled, the sight of Yuri shoving Victor still looping in his mind. Whether he was a kid or not, it wasn’t right, it wasn’t kind, Victor’s didn’t _deserve—_

And once more, like a mother cat after a kitten, Victor snagged Yuri by the back of the neck. “Yura, don’t be rude. He lives in this town, he can go where he likes. Don’t go picking fights.”

Yuri snarled up at Victor, more than a head shorter and skinny and anything but intimidating. If it weren’t for Victor’s easy and familiar control of him, Yuuri would have expected the kid to start the fight he so clearly wanted right then and there. “He’s the enemy, Victor!”

Victor shook his head, exasperated, and shared a look with Yuuri that was too knowing, too familiar. “He doesn’t even have a name. He’s not here to hurt us.”

Yuri hooked an arm behind him and broke Victor’s hold, staggering a few unsteady steps forward. Rage suitably redirected, he rounded on Victor. “How the hell would you know that?”

Yuuri shifted, uncomfortable. Victor tucked his hands into his pockets with a benign smile that felt… distant. Detached. “We talked earlier while you were running around town.”

Yuri went red in the face and jabbed one accusing finger into Victor’s sternum. “You mean while you were _ignoring my calls?_ Don’t turn this around on me. I was looking—”

“Clearly not hard enough, since I found you within twenty minutes of leaving there. This town isn’t _that_ big—”

Yuuri shifted, caught in the awkward position of an outsider pulled into an age-old argument. Yuuri hitched his bag up on his shoulder and glanced longingly at the sidewalk across the bridge. Maybe if he was quick about it—

“How was dance practice?”

Yuuri snapped back to attention, and the motion dislodged his hood. It crumpled around his neck, and Yuuri shivered with the chill of the ocean breeze as it blew through his damp hair. Yuuri’s shoulders tensed and crept upward, a paltry defense. Victor’s eyes were on him, sharp, and blue. So blue.

“Uh, it was okay. I’m just heading home.” Yuuri gestured vaguely with his chin, an upward tilt pointed past Victor and Yuri. He glanced between the two, their travel-worn appearances. “What about you? Where are you going?”

That same stupid, empty smile, except now Victor had turned it on _him._ “Not sure yet. Still weighing our options.”

Yuri snarled something unintelligible in their mother tongue, but whether it was a disparaging remark about Victor’s comment or something about Yuuri personally, he was sure he would never know.

But one thing did stand out in Yuuri’s mind, and the words slipped out before he could stop them, quiet and uncertain. “You don’t have a place to stay?”

Victor paused. Yuri turned to face him, and despite Yuuri’s lingering irritation… he looked so tired. Worn-down. They both did, in all honesty. Then Victor sighed softly, his bravado and brave front crumbling under the weight of Yuuri’s stare, and he shook his head.

Oh, it was a bad idea. A terrible one.

Ever since Yuuri met Victor, he’d been full of terrible ideas, hadn’t he?

But he wasn’t about to let that stop him.

“You know…” Yuuri ran a hand back through his hair, tangled strands catching and pulling on his fingers. He sighed out a breath and Victor watched him, watched every motion. The smaller Yuri narrowed his eyes at the nervous twitch of Yuuri’s tail. “My parents own an inn. As long as you don’t pick any fights or cause any trouble, I don’t think they’d mind if you stayed for a few days.”

Victor blinked slowly, lips parting on a silent emotion he was not quite able to convey before Yuri cut in.

“Not if your sister’s gonna be there. Not on your life.”

Yuuri frowned, attention suitably diverted. “Mari lives with Minako. She doesn’t even work at Yutopia anymore. It’s just me and my parents. And the guests, I… guess.” Yuuri trailed off into silence, shuffling as they stared at him. “I just thought I’d offer. Since you don’t have anywhere else and you… you look tired.”

Yuri glanced at Victor. The harsh expression from before had faded, leaving only the soft shell of a growing boy who needed reassurance from someone he trusted (no matter how they argued). Victor’s eyes flicked down, and after a moment, he placed a heavy-weighted and familial hand between Yuri’s soft blonde-furred ears. “We’re exhausted,” he admitted with a wry, drained smile. “You’re very kind, Yuuri.”

Yuri swayed on his feet, though he worked quite hard at keeping his lips in his patented frown. His tail curled around his own leg, self-soothing as he subtly leaned into Victor’s hand.

The green glint of his eyes reminded Yuuri of the seaglass that washed ashore, weathered by time but unbroken. He could see much of the same in the young blonde Yuri.

Yuri tipped his head back, capturing Victor’s attention before he said something quietly in Russian. Victor shrugged helplessly before he replied, and the entire conversation was lost on Yuuri. Whatever they said or whatever they wanted was up to them, but in the meantime Yuuri edged around them and under their watchful gazes, hoisted the duffle by the strap and onto his shoulder with a weighted huff of breath. Whatever was in there, it certainly wasn’t light.

Victor’s eyes widened and he stepped forward. “I can—”

“I’ve got it,” Yuuri replied through his teeth, taking a moment to adjust to the strap as he let the bag fall against his hip. At least he hadn’t skated today; if he’d done anything other than dance, he wasn’t sure he’d have the energy to carry their bag as well as his. Mari always told him that he was stubborn. If he was, then it ran in the family.

Victor stared at him, smoothing the loose tendrils of his bangs back behind his ear. “Wow.”

Yuuri flushed and turned on his heel as casually as he could manage. “Come on.” He hoped he didn’t sound too winded—or too pleased. “Dinner’s probably already been served, but we might be able to make a late service.”

The sidewalk was not quite wide enough to fit three people and a duffel bag side-by-side, but when Victor dragged Yuri by the arm so they could all walk home together, they managed to make it work.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri’s parents, bless them, accepted his wayward companions without question.

And once they’d peeled off their coats in the entryway and Yuuri had shown them the appropriate way of wearing guest slippers, he headed for the onsen with them inexplicably on his tail.

Yuuri turned, wide-eyed. “Why are you following me? You can get food or ask my parents for your room.”

“And where are _you_ going?” Yuri demanded, arms crossed over his chest, the tip of his tail flicking behind him.

“To bathe?” Yuuri shrugged slightly. “This is a hot spring resort. But it’s communal—”

“I need a bath or a shower or whatever you do here.” Yuri huffed. His stomach growled not far behind it, and behind _him,_ Victor started to laugh. “...and then dinner after.”

“Yura’s always hungry,” Victor said like it was a secret, picking the hair elastic from his own long locks all the while. “But I for one would also like to get cleaned up.”

Yuuri’s cheeks flushed. God, he’d shared communal baths with folks young and old his whole life. Was he really getting worked up about this _now?_ He turned away to stave off his embarrassment, but felt his traitorous tail twitching behind him. “Okay, then you can follow me. If you want to go in the pool or the hot springs, you have to wash off first. Other than that, take your time. There’s towels and jinbei for when you get out, and then we can get dinner. Sound good?”

Yuuri held open the door to the locker room, letting Victor and Yuri duck past him as they murmured their affirmations. They cut a strange pair of figures in the bathroom, out of place and clearly foreign with the way they looked at every commonplace item of Yuuri’s home like it was brand new. However, faced with the promise of hot water and soap, they quickly stripped down to their underclothes and then… hesitated.

Yuuri politely diverted his eyes as he held out a pair of short towels more suited to modesty than actual drying. “It’s no big deal. Just remember to rinse off first.”

Yuuri turned his back on them, strangely nervous for the first time in years as he stripped, perfunctory and impersonal. The only goal in his mind was soaking his muscles and rinsing off the sweat from his day’s work. When he turned, Victor and Yuri seemed to have worked things out, though Yuri was more than a little red in the face. His tail lashed fitfully, and then muttered something under his breath.

Yuuri frowned. “What was that?”

Victor huffed out a laugh through his nose. “He asked where he could get a comb. I wouldn’t mind one myself, if you have a spare.”

“Oh.” Naturally, long hair required a certain level of maintenance. Usually such things weren’t stored in the men’s locker room, but Yuuri knew he had tucked one somewhere in the sink area a while back, and fished it out with swift fingers. “You might have to share…”

But Victor seemed more than happy as he reached out to take it, silver letters glimmering smooth and proud on the back of his hand. “Oh, perfect. That’s okay, I just hate finger-combing. Thank you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri stared after Victor as he turned and retreated to where Yuri had already started to rinse off. Victor’s hair fell in windblown waves to his waist the same color as seamist, the lines of his body tall and toned and pale as the moon. Yuuri pinched himself at the hip, just a little too soft and stained with lightning-shaped marks and—ow, yep, it still hurt, and this was still real.

Victor was even more beautiful when he wasn’t hiding in that oversized coat.

Yuuri followed after them, rinsing quickly but thoroughly as Victor tugged the comb through Yuri’s tangled hair and around his flattened ears, much to the boy’s whining and snapping complaints. The two were still arguing quietly between themselves as Yuuri ducked out of the room, heading to the outdoor pool. He was starting to get the idea that their bickering was more familial than ire, if not the normal and natural state of their relationship.

Victor was right. They were nothing like Mari and Minako.

Yuuri sighed as he slipped into the water, the warmth soothing his legs and aching back and the persistent twinge at the base of his tail. Yuuri often tried to alternate between dance and skating to keep his exercise routine rounded, but unfortunately _both_ put undue strain on his body when he pushed himself too hard. Yuuri was prone to doing just that—after all, his education didn’t leave him nearly as much time as he liked for his hobbies, and he used whatever time he could get.

Yuuri found his favorite nook in the corner of the pool, silently thankful that he was the only one still in the outdoor area at this time of night. He could mark that down as due to the chill in the air; the steam that rose from the simmering water was thicker than usual in the autumn evening. He set his glasses aside before he sank down to his chin, body curled and canted to the side against the warm rock shelf, and let his mind go distant and fuzzy as he visualized the ice in his mind.

“Yuuri?”

He wasn’t sure how much later it was when Victor gently called to him. Yuuri opened his eyes to the slightly-blurry sight of Victor kneeling by the edge of the pool, skin pinkened and hair unbound, his towel covering precious little. He held the comb loosely between his fingers.

Yuuri would chalk it up to the haze in his mind that he did nothing more than blink slowly, his tail swishing through the water around him. “I wasn’t asleep.”

The corners of Victor’s lips turned up. “Do you mind if I join you? I think Yura is going to find dinner. Though I understand if you don’t want company.”

Yuuri’s ears perked forward, an interested tic and subtle betrayal. Victor’s smile grew a little more, but he waited for Yuuri’s nod before he removed his towel and slipped into the water, making a surprised, soft sound. Yuuri both thanked and cursed his truly terrible vision. “Wow, it’s really warm.”

Yuuri smiled a little in return and reached for his glasses, squinting at the strain of his eyes readjusting to his prescription. He had to lift himself further out of the water to prevent the lenses from steaming, but he figured it was a fair trade to see Victor properly.

A… very fair trade indeed.

Victor was flushed from his cheeks to where his chest disappeared into the water, his hair in a pool of silver around his body. Victor wiggled the comb in Yuuri’s direction, hand outstretched. “Will you help me get the back? Yura pulls too hard at the ends and it’s hard to reach it myself.”

Victor pushed it into his hand and Yuuri took it in stunned silence, suddenly faced with Victor’s broad back and the smattering of freckles along the crest of his shoulders and—

Yuuri gulped. “Y-you came out here to ask me to comb your hair?” Yuuri’s hands found the ends in the water, tangled together, and oh—he could see what Victor meant. Someone had brushed the knot down to the very ends where a rather stubborn snarl had formed. Unseen by Victor, Yuuri opted to forgo the comb, holding it between his teeth as he started to pick it apart with his fingers.

Startled, Victor looked over his shoulder, nearly pulling the knot out of Yuuri’s hands. He winced at the tug. “Ow, ow! Ouch, sorry, that was entirely my own fault. I just didn’t expect—”

Yuuri huffed under his breath, a quiet thing of stubborn disbelief, but also a bit of a laugh. He pulled the comb out of his mouth and held it in one hand. “You tell me not to pull and then you go and pull it yourself. I grew up surrounded by women. I know how to get a tangle out of long hair. See?” Yuuri carefully loosened the first section and pulled it free, sweeping it aside where it floated aimlessly atop the water. He started to work again, using the tail of the fine-toothed comb to unravel the matted section bit by bit. He felt his ear twitch with the depth of his focus.

Victor sighed and relaxed under Yuuri’s hands, mere inches between Yuuri’s chest and Victor’s back. And really, how quickly the tables turned in life—that in barely twenty-four hours they had gone from strangers to… _this._

Yuuri stilled. No, that couldn’t be right. This was a level of familiarity it had taken him _months_ to reach with anyone else. And yet—and yet—

“Yuuri?” Victor murmured, turning his head just slightly enough to glance at Yuuri through his bangs. “Is it done?”

“Ah, give me a moment. Um.” Yuuri pulled apart the remainder deftly, marveling at the softness of Victor’s hair slipping between his fingers. “There. That’s—you should be fine now.”

Victor hummed happily, turning carefully out of Yuuri’s hands and tipping his head back in the water, the starlight silver fanning out around him, and he threaded his fingers through it from root to tip. He let out a satisfied sigh and settled into the water, letting it rise up around his shoulders as he found a comfortable place to sit close to Yuuri.

Yuuri was used to seeing bathing patrons look a bit like sodden cats. Even soaking wet, Victor was almost unfairly beautiful. He leaned his head against the rock shelf surrounding them, tucking his bangs behind his ear, hand tucked under his cheek. Like this, he didn’t look quite human—a siren perhaps, waiting for a song in return. Yuuri could feel the notes in the inches between them, feel them singing against his skin with possibility. “Thank you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri swallowed. “I-it’s nothing.” He set the comb aside, Victor watching him with the sort of languid ease that made Yuuri _extremely_ nervous. His tail flickered through the water like a minnow, a veritable school of koi splashing behind his ribs.

Victor’s smile was small and sweet. “It’s not nothing. It’s so rare to find someone who can be gentle.”

Yuuri felt his blush hit him like a train; watched the sparkle in Victor’s eyes as he laughed, though not unkindly. There was a deep, dark part of Yuuri that wanted to flee. He beat it back. The water was warm, his back was starting to feel better, and Victor…

Victor seemed content as anything to lounge beside him and trade small talk, to flash his heart-shaped smile at every panicky twitch of Yuuri’s ears. But he never pushed, he never reached, and he kept his eyes firmly on Yuuri’s face. That counted for a lot.

“How long do you think you’ll be here?” Yuuri asked.

“Hmm. It’s hard to say.” Victor frowned thoughtfully, tipping his head back and watching the steam rise in curls into the air. “Yura and I won’t feel right going back unless our mission is  accomplished. That _is_ one thing we have in common.” He sighed. “That said, our loss complicates things. We challenged _Relentless_ on the premise of getting information. Minako was our best chance at finding Lilia. We have to start over with nothing and no leads. So it could be a while.”

Yuuri thought of the duffel bag he’d carried down the road, how even with the weight of it, it was hardly enough to hold more than a few changes of clothes for two people. Did they really have no backup plan? “You packed a little light,” he said doubtfully. “In a few weeks it’ll be cold.”

Victor turned his head to the side, the first hints of a coy smirk on his face. “Are you worried about us?” When Yuuri spluttered, Victor laughed for real. But the moment abruptly ended, and Victor closed his eyes against the sights and the glow of the light from the inside. His hands floated atop the water, skimming the surface and leaving ripples in the wake of his fingertips. “We’ll be out of your way by then, I’m sure. One way or another.”

Nearly all of Victor’s skin was flushed from the heat of soaking in the hot spring. It only made the name on the back of his hand stand out in sharper relief, a more dramatic contrast. Yuuri couldn’t stop himself when he reached out to touch the back of Victor’s hand, and—

Victor should have jolted, or— _something._ It was as unexpected a touch to receive as it was for Yuuri to offer, and Yuuri’s ears folded flat when he realized how presumptuous, how _pushy_ when Victor had been so respectful, but…

Victor opened his eyes, quiet and contemplative as he stared at the sky. With a gentle breath, he turned to look at Yuuri, patient. Waiting.

And Yuuri should have choked down the words, had no right to offer without so much as consulting his family, but his voice was firm when he said, “You can stay as long as you need to. Both of you.”

Victor’s gaze was level, searching; he turned his hand over in Yuuri’s and their palms settled together. “You shouldn’t say those sorts of things.” Yuuri made to pull away, stung, chest fluttering with rejection, but Victor wrapped his fingers around his hand before Yuuri could make it very far at all. Victor held him steady. Offered a smile. “If you hand out too much kindness, you might never be rid of us.”

Victor gently pulled their hands apart, finally sitting upright and gathering his hair between his hands. With a deft twist and swift fingers he piled it atop his head, wrapping the tail around the root and arranging it into a self-maintained bun. The strands in the front were too short to stay put, flopping over his face; Victor puffed at them, but they stayed stubbornly stuck to his cheeks. He laughed under his breath and pushed them back with his fingers—his hair was bumpy on the top and imperfect and dripping wet, and there was a splotchy flush across his chest and collarbones. But his eyes were bright blue and his smile was genuine, and he was absolutely lovely.

When Mari found out as she inevitably would, Yuuri was sure she would kill him.

“I can think of worse things,” he said, and Victor’s smile could only be compared to moonbeams.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Rebloggable chapter post here.](http://maydei.tumblr.com/post/166361913922/title-fated-pairing-victuuri-victor)
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented so far! You really do make me smile (even if I am a bit slow at replying; work is hell). This chapter is a little shorter, but I swear the next one will make up for it. *eyes emoji*


	4. Restless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Yuuri and Victor grow closer, Yuuri begins to realize just how much of his life has always been part of this world, whether he knew it or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thank you so much for your amazing response to the last chapter. Fun fact: this chapter has been drafted in advance, because I'm currently in Kyrgyzstan at my exchange sister's wedding!! Isn't that fucking cool? The internet is so ridiculous. When I was a kid this shit wasn't even possible and now here I am... posting friggin' fanfiction from a developing country. WILD.
> 
> Shoutout to [Rae](http://extranikiforov.tumblr.com) who beta'd this in a pinch so I could queue it before I left. And huge heckin' shout out to the rest of you who read this. Seriously, I love you all. If I could marry that many of you, I would. Shoutout to the airplane where I'm definitely going to be writing (and at this point, have hopefully written) more of this AU. Because we're not done, no we're not. Nowhere near close. 
> 
>  

 

 

Dinner was easy, if only by nature of Hiroko seeing two tired, hungry boys and filling her instinct to feed them the most comforting food she could think of.

There was a shine in Victor’s eyes as he worked his way through Yuuri’s mother’s katsudon; if Yuri tasted anything at all, it was in the scant seconds between food reaching his mouth and swallowing, shoveling in sustenance like only a teenager could accomplish. Both crowded around the dining table with Yuuri in their green jinbei, eyeing his rice and grilled fish and salad speculatively—Victor pouted incessantly when Yuuri denied his offer to share his katsudon.

“I gain weight easily,” he’d admitted with a flush, a twitch of his ears. “So I only eat katsudon after I finish all my finals for the semester.”

Victor seemed to think that was _adorable._

Yuri scoffed. “So you turn into a pig if you eat pig? Figures.”

“Yura, that’s _rude,_ ” Victor scolded, and tugged at the tip of one blonde, pointed ear. Yuri hissed in response, catlike as his swishing tail.

Yuri was in quite the mood by the time dinner had finished. Despite soaking his muscles and filling his stomach, sometimes there was just nothing to satiate a body’s need but uninterrupted rest.

And therein came the crux of it all.

“My mom says there’s only one room available right now.” Yuuri approached Victor with the key, and Victor smiled and held out his hand with thanks.

“That won’t be a problem,” Victor replied.

And it very much _wasn’t_ a problem until Yuri took one look at the modest Japanese-style room, then turned to Victor and Yuuri and said, “Hell no. Definitely not.” Yuuri bristled, halfway to offended before Yuri shot out a hand with an accusing finger pointed straight into Victor’s face. “You move _constantly_ in your sleep and I can never get any rest. I haven’t slept in two days. Find somewhere else.”

And after watching them bicker all afternoon like brothers, Yuuri expected a sarcastic quip or for Victor to smirk as he brushed by him, but—

Victor nodded once, silent as a wraith as he turned and retreated back down the hallway and disappeared from sight, leaving Yuuri and Yuri alone.

Yuri’s ears folded back when Yuuri frowned at him, and though he wavered he didn’t break. “If you had to sleep in the same room as him you’d understand. I’m so tired, I’m just—” His voice trembled. “I’m so _tired_.”

Yuuri sighed. He was sure Yuri and Victor were both exhausted enough to react unexpectedly. “I’ll figure something out. Just get some rest.”

Yuri looked at him, bottle-green eyes both frustrated and guilty. “He just—I’m—” He cut himself off, then cleared his throat. He was already leaning heavily against the doorway, slowly unraveling and trying desperately to maintain his sharp bravado, and he leveled Yuuri with a narrow-eyed glance. “I’m not sorry. He’s falling apart because of this mission. But you better find him somewhere, even if it’s a quiet corner.”

Yuuri’s frown was deep even still, though more contemplative than before. His tail twitched in strange, untraceable shapes, and he waved his hand vaguely at Yuri. “Let me worry about that. If you need more blankets, there’s a stock closet downstairs.” Yuuri’s eyes crept over, taking in the sight of Yuri’s mussed hair and haggard stance. “You may be here a while.”

At that moment, tense as it was, Yuuri was sure a beat of understanding passed between them. Yuri would not surrender his rest and well being, but in his own way, he cared just as much about Victor’s.

He dropped the duffel with a heavy thud, then knelt as he unzipped it and dug through the bundled clothing for something in particular, ears perked forward with concentration. What he emerged with was a jacket—white and red neoprene, fleece lining in the collar, intricate embroidery down the sleeves. When Yuri pushed it into his hands, Yuuri was not quite quick enough, and the sweatshirt fell in a puddle to the floor.

Yuuri bent to pick it up, and that was the moment he froze. On the back was a silhouette of interlocked rings and the words _Russian Olympic Team._

It was a little on the small side, but still much too big for Yuri. And when Yuuri rubbed the material between his fingers, it felt worn and well-loved with age.

The breath punched out of him, and Yuuri held tight. “But… Victor never went to the Olympics.”

Yuri’s gaze on him was sharp, indescribable. But he looked at Yuuri like someone who had suddenly gained some invaluable knowledge and wasn’t quite sure what to do with it yet. “This life takes everything. All your free time and your family and your dreams. So we hold onto whatever we can get, even if it’s wrong.” Yuri pulled away, retreated quickly with a huff. “Just give it to him. In case he gets cold.”

He promptly slid the door closed in Yuuri’s face.

Understanding, indeed.

With a lump in his throat, Yuuri padded down the hallway and the stairs after Victor, eyes peeled for pale skin and silver hair. When he’d passed through all the rooms open to the public and Victor was nowhere to be found, Yuuri even got a little nervous.

In the end, he found Victor on the porch.

The yellow light filtering through the shoji was the only illumination as Victor sat alone in the dark, head tilted toward the sky. He didn’t so much as twitch when Yuuri slid open the door and closed it. Yuuri stood awkwardly behind him for a moment, the very tips of his ears twitching—Victor very well knew Yuuri was there, and Yuuri knew he knew. But then Victor patted the wooden planks beside him with one hand and without looking back.

Yuuri sat.

It took a while for Victor to look at him, though the silence wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable. Victor’s hair was in soft waves around his face, brought to life by the damp bun he’d kept his hair in all through dinner. They caught on the collar of his jinbei, on his shoulders, in his eyelashes; when Victor turned to look at Yuuri at long last, he was a mess of starlight strands and glacial eyes, lonely and lovely just the same.

And then he saw the jacket in Yuuri’s hands, and his expression crumbled a little more.

Yuuri held it out to him. It was hard to breathe for the long moments it took Victor to accept the burden he bore, but rather than put it on, Victor held it in his lap. His finger traced the Olympic rings in a path that spoke of longing familiarity, and Victor tipped his head back to look at the moon again.

“Yuri asked me to give it to you,” Yuuri said quietly. His voice was too loud in the silence, so he lowered it. In the distance, there was the crash of ocean waves. Yuuri’s tail whispered back and forth across the porch. “He said he was sorry.”

“No he didn’t,” Victor said softly.

Yuuri went silent.

“Thank you for bringing this to me,” Victor continued. And after everything Victor had done and gone through over the last few days, it still seemed so _wrong_ for him to sound so defeated. Yuuri’s heart clenched, and he gripped his hands together in his lap to prevent himself from reaching out. His tail lashed fitfully, overcome and anxious and uncertain.

“I’ll… try not to be in the way.”

“You’re not in the way,” Yuuri answered immediately. He knew exactly what Victor meant, but—but the words had to be said, and Yuuri had to say them, and…

“When you say it, I almost believe it.” Victor held the jacket in his hands and brought it to his chest, clutching it like a child with a safety blanket. He leaned back until he was flat against the porch, hair caught underneath him like a veil. His eyes closed against the light, against the darkness of the sky, against Yuuri.

The silence was not a balm, but blistering with something unpleasant and uncertain. Yuuri didn’t know what to say, and Victor didn’t seem to want to offer anything.

Yuuri’s tail swept back and forth with the force of his nerves, back and forth, back and—

Victor reached out one hand, eyes closed, and stroked the backs of his knuckles down Yuuri’s tail.

Yuuri shivered and shuddered with surprise, every hair standing on end. His tail puffed with shock, and Yuuri was a little ashamed to admit he yelped. He smacked Victor’s hands away without a thought and pulled his tail around into his own lap, red-faced and mortified, biting words ready to wound on the very tip of his tongue.

Victor stared back, looking for every measure as alarmed and off-kilter as Yuuri. His cheeks were hot and red, the flush quickly spreading down his neck and up to the pink tips of his ears. “I’m sorry, I—”

Victor cut himself off. Yuuri stared back in stunned silence.

“You never went to the Olympics,” Yuuri blurted.

And then they both were staring.

Victor swallowed. Yuuri picked and pulled at the fuzz of his tail.

“You’re right,” Victor said slowly. “I got chosen but didn’t get to go. My name showed up a few years after the Seven Voices massacre. At the time, any surviving Fighters and Sacrifices were sent to the new academy for training. No exceptions. And that was the end of my skating career.”

Yuuri’s fretting slowed to a stop. “That’s not fair.”

“It wasn’t,” Victor agreed. He tore his eyes away from Yuuri’s and stared straight up at nothing in particular. “But I’d learned to be good with words, and I was already used to being the best. So I made myself the best somewhere new. I told myself my Sacrifice would be worth losing my shot at history.”

Victor trailed off into silence, holding the jacket in a bundle against his sternum. He sighed softly.

“Did you believe it?” Yuuri asked.

The silence between them was fraught with significance, though what it actually _meant_ , neither could be sure.

Victor did not look at Yuuri when he replied, “At the time.”

Yuuri smoothed down the fur of his tail, the shock of Victor’s touch still alight in his spine. He looked into his lap, not sure if he was expecting to see a handprint or a mark or—

“But now?”

Yuuri didn’t know why he asked when he already knew the answer, and knew just as well that Victor would never say it aloud.

It was the first time that their brand of quiet had ever been uncomfortable. Yuuri knew that he had pushed too far. It wasn’t his business, and one way or another, Victor’s Yuri was clearly still family. It would be unfair to ask which he would rather have.

It was too late, anyway. At twenty-eight, there was no changing Victor’s past. No glory to be reclaimed on the ice.

Yuuri swallowed and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I… I guess I put my foot in my mouth sometimes, too.”

Victor turned his head to look at Yuuri, but didn’t yet say anything at all. His eyes were steady, solid—and then they slipped closed. His face tipped to the side against the wooden planks of the porch. It he’d been standing, Yuuri was sure he would have stumbled.

So Yuuri released his tail and reached for Victor, letting his fingertips softly touch the outside of his wrist. Victor cracked his eyes open and mumbled a soft little _hmm?_ of inquiry.

He needed a place to rest. The onsen was booked solid, and any and all of the dining or living rooms would be open to the high traffic of their patrons in the early morning. So despite Yuri’s warnings—

“You can sleep in my room if you want.”

Victor’s lips parted, open on a subtle and soft look of shock that had Yuuri’s heart skipping a beat. The dark circles under his eyes were even more obvious when he blinked slowly, absorbing the words and processing them. Maybe buffering a little bit too. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You won’t be. I’m offering.” Yuuri wasn’t sure where this newfound boldness was coming from, especially when he felt like he was going to explode any moment. “You look exhausted. I can grab a guest futon, and at least it’ll be quiet. I’m a heavy sleeper.”

Victor looked doubtful as much as he looked hopeful. He turned his hand over, Yuuri’s touch skimming over his chilled skin and settling against his palm. Victor’s fingers curled until they touched Yuuri’s again, the gentlest hand-holding Yuuri had ever experienced in his life. “Are you sure? Yuuri, I—”

“I’m sure,” Yuuri replied. He turned his gaze on the sky, no longer able to look at Victor when he—

—oh, the way he was looking at Yuuri just wasn’t fair. Even out of the corner of his eyes, through the blur of his vision where his glasses didn’t reach, he knew it was true. So Yuuri pulled his hand away and pushed himself to his feet, standing above Victor and staring down. The weight of that gaze on him had his tail flickering, an uncertain motion, but Yuuri had _never_ been so sure.

He held out his hand. “Come on. Don’t fall asleep on the porch.”

Victor sat up, drawn toward Yuuri’s hand like a magnet. For a man so trim he was surprisingly heavy, but Yuuri hauled him to his feet either way—even if Victor stumbled into him at the end of it all and nearly knocked them _both_ off the porch. “Sorry, sorry.”

If it were any other time on any other night, Yuuri might have thought Victor was pushing boundaries, insinuating himself closer to Yuuri than necessary. But the circles under his eyes were too dark and Victor’s legs were just too unsteady for Yuuri to think anything but the truth—he was exhausted, plain and simple.

Yuuri’s ears folded back even as he pushed an arm around Victor’s waist, holding him upright and leading him back inside. “Try not to fall on me, okay?”

Victor didn’t answer. It took a suitable amount of time and effort to guide him upstairs, past the door off the hall where Yuri was probably already asleep, and toward the sanctuary of Yuuri’s room. Victor hissed when his hair caught in the crook of Yuuri’s arm; Yuuri yelped when Victor stepped on his foot. But by the time Yuuri had gotten Victor to his room and left him on the bed, he hadn’t started to rethink his decision. Still, he retreated before Victor could protest, skittering off in the direction of the linen closet, tail twitching behind him as he went.

When he returned to his room in the dark with the awkward bundle of the futon carried in his arms, Victor was curled atop Yuuri’s mattress fully clothed. His arms were pushed into his backward jacket, long legs tucked close to his body.

He was asleep.

Yuuri sighed.

Yuuri’s room was small. As such, it had very little available floor space—exactly enough for the futon to fit between Yuuri’s bed and his desk and not an inch more. The padded roll was maybe three inches thick, traditional and not entirely comfortable to sleep on, but it was passable. And within a day or two, Yuuri would get used to it again, he was sure.

He cast a nervous look up toward the bed, but Victor didn’t move. Yuuri folded his glasses and set them on the desk, and after a moment of hot-cheeked consideration, Yuuri kicked out of his jeans and crawled under the blanket, bare legs slipping against the linen sheets. He was glad now for the autumn night that was just cold enough he could get away with sleeping under the sheets—

Victor’s eyes cracked open in the dim dark. He jolted, out of place with that strange sense of alarm when one woke up somewhere unfamiliar, and his hand slipped off the bed as he pushed himself up, nearly tumbling down in the process.

Yuuri reached out from his futon and wrapped his fingers around Victor’s.

Victor gripped back. “Yuuri?”

“I’m right here.” Yuuri’s heart worked its way up his throat, suddenly feeling strange and exposed, even with the bareness of his legs hidden from Victor’s gaze.

“You’re—you’re on the floor? Yuuri!” Victor started to inch toward the edge of the bed, and suddenly there were much more important things than the fact that Yuuri was only wearing his tee shirt and underwear.

Yuuri rolled onto his knees and pushed himself up, reaching blindly until his hands made contact with Victor’s chest and he _pushed_. “Victor, stay.”

Victor froze, a protesting sound slipping between his teeth.

“No,” Yuuri insisted. “Stay there. You need the bed. You need to sleep.”

Yuuri didn’t press hard, but that didn’t seem to matter. Victor sank down under his touch like a lead weight, whining futile argumentative sounds like a fussy child being laid down to nap. His eyes were wide and pleading at Yuuri in the dark, but it was all too easy for Yuuri to pretend he didn’t notice—well, at least for Victor’s sake.

On Yuuri’s part, it was… a struggle.

And then the blanket slipped off his back and down around his ankles, and Yuuri’s legs were open and exposed to the air and his tail lashed fitfully and he pulled back and away, but—

Victor lay at the edge of the mattress, still fully-clothed. One of his arms that was pushed through his jacket sleeve hung over the side of the bed, blindly reaching out even as his eyes went unfocused and slipped closed.

Yuuri was just out of his reach, and that seemed to bother Victor quite a bit indeed. Yuuri could sense the wiggle of Victor’s fingers just a hair’s breadth away from him. “You need rest,” Yuuri said, half a groan and half a sigh.

Victor wiggled his fingers again, restless. “Yuuri,” he said, and said nothing else.

Yuuri took a breath.

Victor reached just a little bit further. His knuckles brushed over the soft dome of Yuuri’s ear. Yuuri shivered and shuddered as Victor sighed, like he needed to touch Yuuri more than he needed to sleep, and—

Yuuri closed his eyes and make his choice.

He grabbed his pillow and budged up close to the foot of his own bed. He bundled one of the blankets beneath him so his body was raised just that extra inch off the floor, so Victor’s arm hanging over the edge could easily rest atop his head. There were boundaries here being crossed, Yuuri knew—but if Victor slept better and Yuuri maintained what distance he could between them, wasn’t that all he could do?

Yuuri’s nervous heart was eased by the sound of Victor’s satisfied mumble, even if the feeling of Victor’s fingers rubbing at the base of his ears was anything but soothing. Electrifying, maybe. It made Yuuri want to arch and purr and that was so wholly _not Yuuri_ that he managed to resist.

But still.

Yuuri knew the moment that Victor drifted off, when the weight of his palm on Yuuri’s head became heavy and somehow… settling. It was then that Yuuri was finally able to find some peace in Victor’s touch, dozing contentedly and waiting for the moment Yuri had promised when Victor’s sleep would turn fitful, restless.

It never came.

 

* * *

 

Victor was still asleep in the morning when Yuuri awoke, his arm hanging over the edge even still, fingers tangled in Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri was careful, gentle as he freed himself; for the sake of Victor’s arm, which would be a lead weight when he awoke, Yuuri tucked it back onto the mattress. He picked up his bedroll and put it in the corner, tiptoeing to his closet and dressing as silently as he could manage.

Before he left, he turned back. Considered. Yuuri unfolded his blanket and swept it over Victor, the hints of a smile pulling at his mouth when Victor nuzzled in and finally turned over to face the wall.

Yuuri huffed out a near-silent laugh as he picked up his backpack, adjusted his glasses, and slipped out of the room.

It was no surprise to him that Yuri was also still asleep, even though the downstairs was mostly occupied by patrons eating his mother’s traditional breakfast fare in the dining area. Yuuri ducked into the kitchen to bid his mother a quick farewell, taking only enough time to wolf down a small bowl of rice and a single egg, not bothering to leave his corner of the kitchen until he was finished. Yuuri shrugged on his jacket near the door and sighed, steeling himself against the brisk October morning before he shouted his farewell to his parents. The crowd of regular offered Yuuri their well-wishes too, their voices echoing behind him.

This morning’s class was earlier than most, and Yuuri took off at a brisk pace across the bridge toward the community campus. It was small, spread out over most of Hasetsu (which didn’t say much), but the buildings were fairly new and well-maintained, and Yuuri liked it enough that he was satisfied staying in his hometown.

And if he’d wanted to study in America years ago, that was a long-forgotten dream. His parents needed his help running the onsen, and Yuuri’s home-grown study of English suited him just fine. Maybe someday he would do postgraduate work there, but that would be years in the future, if ever at all.

Because for all that Hasetsu was a traditional seaside Japanese town, it had expanded somewhat in recent years. To hear his parents say it, there had been an influx of foreigners over the past ten or fifteen years—slowly at first, just a few here and there. And then more, college-aged individuals who had inexplicably sought out Hasetsu’s tiny community school rather than a cultured university in Tokyo, rather than the historical sites in Kyoto. Yuuri had no better explanation for it than his parents, but he was glad for it—he had met his best friend that way, a recent development only a year or two ago when Phichit had moved here from Thailand.

It was Phichit who was waiting for him when Yuuri approached the towering class hall, phone clutched in hand, wearing a bright red-and-gold sweatshirt that would have better belonged on the streets of Harajuku. But that was Phichit to a T—vibrant and singular with a smile like sunshine. “Yuuri!”

Yuuri smiled, raising a hand in greeting. And then he caught the sharp look in Phichit’s eyes.

“Yuuri, what’s this I’m hearing about you walking around campus with a hot earless foreigner, and _why_ didn’t I hear it from you?” Though Phichit’s mouth was a perfect pout, the glint in his eyes was nothing if not _proud._ “Haven’t I taught you anything? You share these things with me _first._ ”

Yuuri groaned, because _of course_ everyone on campus probably knew about Victor by now. How could anyone have _missed_ him? Freakishly tall, stupid silver hair—

“Yuuri, don’t look so glum!” Phichit slung an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders, personable and comfortable with closeness as Yuuri seldom was. But Yuuri had never known Phichit when he wasn’t touchy, had never known him when he had his ears or tail. Phichit had always been this way. Had always been… more like Yuuri’s other classmates. Been more like them than Yuuri ever had been, himself. “You haven’t even said good morning yet, you know.”

“G-good morning,” Yuuri stammered out, steered this way and that through the doorway and the halls as Phichit led Yuuri to the very class in which _Yuuri_ was the TA and _Phichit_ was the student. “I wasn’t trying to _hide_ it, I didn’t even know him until yesterday—”

“But Seung-gil said he saw you holding hands in the picnic area. Wow, Yuuri. I didn’t know you moved so fast. Scandalous.” Phichit’s voice was warm, teasing, but it still set Yuuri on edge. Oh, no. How many people _had_ seen them?

“I can’t even get Seung-gil to talk in class!” Yuuri protested. “And he’s gossiping with you?”

“Seung-gil tells me everything, I don’t know why this still surprises you. Enough about him, more about _you_ , and more about this _guy._ ”

Yuuri stumbled over the threshold of the classroom, immediately stuck under the weight of fifteen pairs of curious eyes who only held off on asking those same questions because they didn’t know Yuuri as well as Phichit did. Yuuri’s ears folded flat. Whatever happened to undergrads respecting the elder grad students?

Yuuri snagged Phichit by one glimmering sleeve and pulled him aside, tail lashing as he irritably dumped his bag on the desk. “If I promise to tell you after class, will you promise to keep it off YikYak?”

“Yuuri,” Phichit replied pityingly. “It’s already _on_ YikYak. That’s how I found out in the first place.” Yuuri’s tortured sigh was apparently enough to change Phichit’s mind. “But what I know I don’t have to tell. At least not on SMS. Okay?”

That was about as good as Yuuri was going to get, he supposed. “Fine. After class.”

“I’ll buy you a milk tea,” Phichit promised.

“Try contributing to the class discussion instead,” Yuuri scolded gently. “And stop talking to Sara in the corner when you _know_ I can hear you.”

“Okay, okay!” Phichit replied cheerfully as he retreated to his seat—right next to Sara, exactly as expected. Yuuri smiled to himself; he knew damn well Phichit would chatter all class long, no matter _what_ Yuuri said. But credit where credit was due, because at least Phichit _pretended_ he wasn’t talking, and faded into silence whenever Yuuri leveled him with a wry glance for the hour-and-a-half the lecture.

The actual professor of the class might not have been there at all, for all that he seemed to care about the chatter in his classroom.

Oh, well. When all was said and done, it didn’t really matter. Yuuri wanted to teach children, _not_ university-aged students. How much they paid attention to him was up to them, and they could ignore him at their own peril.

After all, Yuuri was the one grading their papers.

The end of the class brought them to mid-morning, and by the time Yuuri had packed up his bag and was waiting for Phichit, his stomach was back to rumbling its protests at the tiny breakfast he’d eaten. Phichit’s offer of milk tea was starting to sound more appealing by the second.

Yuuri clipped the chest strap of his backpack just as Phichit slipped his arm through Yuuri’s. “So. Campus cafe or Minako’s?”

“Campus cafe,” Yuuri answered without hesitation. Phichit blinked slowly, surprised—Yuuri scuffed the toe of his tennis shoe on the tile floor, one of his ears turning outward and then inward again. “Look, it’s complicated.”

“Okay.” Phichit nodded once, determined. “Then let’s walk, and you can tell me everything.” They found their way out of the lecture hall, and it was as they walked arm-in-arm toward the single campus hub that Phichit finally asked, “So what’s his name?”

Yuuri swallowed and laughed sharply and replied, “Victor Nikiforov.”

Phichit’s even pace stuttered. Yuuri stumbled forward without him and turned, ears perked, and—

Phichit stared at him with wide eyes, lips apart, a soft look of shock and inexplicable dismay that Yuuri couldn’t understand, but seemed terribly familiar.

“Oh,” Phichit said. “Shit.”

And Yuuri looked at his friend, at the person he’d known for almost two years now, and suddenly something clicked into place.

A transfer student with no discernable purpose in Hasetsu. His strong bond with Seung-gil. And that _look_ at the mention of Victor’s name.

Yuuri’s heart dropped into his belly. “Oh shit.”

 

* * *

 

“It’s not that I didn’t want to tell you,” Phichit said later, calpis bottle in hand. He and Yuuri had foregone the campus cafe after all, making their way to the Hasetsu Bridge. It was easier to talk openly when they didn’t have to worry about their classmates overhearing the strange reality Yuuri was finding himself in. “I just—”

“Wasn’t allowed to,” Yuuri finished for him. He took a sip from his milk tea, the condensation dampening his fingers. “Until I got my name, right?”

Phichit’s expression twisted into something guilty, but not vicious. He shot Yuuri a sidelong glance and a sheepish smile. “He told you everything, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.” Yuuri’s legs dangled over the edge of the bridge, the first level of railings hovering over his thighs. His arms slipped through the third bar up; no feasible way to fall as Yuuri glanced down at the water below. Why did it feel like Victor had been more honest with him on the first day of knowing Yuuri than his friends and family had been for his whole life?

“They’re staying with you, you said?”

Yuuri leaned his face against the chilled metal of the safety rails. “Yeah. But it was weird. Yuri wouldn’t let him sleep in the same room. I didn’t even think it would be an issue.”

Phichit’s expression did turn sour at that. “No, there’s definitely something wrong there. A Sacrifice _always_ looks after their Fighter’s needs. There’s a pull. It just… is.” Phichit huffed out a breath through his nose. At that moment, a light bulb seemed to go off in his head and he turned a suspicious glance on Yuuri. “But you told me last week that the inn was booked up and your mom was going nuts. So where did Victor sleep?”

Caught. Yuuri cursed the fact that he turned red so easily under pressure. “Ahh, um—”

But Phichit looked _delighted._ “Yuuri! Wow! You totally slept with him!”

Yuuri spluttered, ears folding down. His tail whipped so hard that it thumped Phichit in the back and they both hissed with pain. “What? No! Phichit, I still have my ears!”

“Yeah, okay, maybe you didn’t _sleep_ sleep with him, but you _totally_ slept with him!” Phichit pulled one leg out from under the railing and turned to the side, leaning into the barricade so he could face Yuuri completely. “That’s so unlike you! Did Yuri go ballistic? He’d have no right because he kicked Victor out, but still—”

“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Yuuri protested and hid his face in his arms, the bottle of milk tea clutched tightly in his hand. It creaked and groaned under the pressure from his white-knuckled grip. “I didn’t actually _sleep_ with him, I just let him sleep on my bed. I slept on the floor. On a futon. You know.”

This didn’t seem to deter Phichit at all. “There has to be more to it. He was all over you yesterday, Yuuri. Seung-gil told me. We notice that sort of thing, you know.”

“I still can’t believe Seung-gil is gossiping about my love life,” Yuuri grumbled into his jacket, muffled through the fabric.

Phichit’s grin was sharp and thrilled. “Love life?! Yuuri, come on! You’re holding out on me!” He reached over to dig his fingers into Yuuri’s ribs, and Yuuri squeaked and giggled and wiggled out of the way, all to no avail.

“I meant tha–that as a figure of speech! Phichit, get _off!_ Phi—ahahaha! _Phichit!”_

“Yuuri, you’re my best friend! I need to know these things about you! You have a crush!”

Yuuri lashed out and whapped Phichit in the shoulder with the milk tea bottle. “Come on!” Yuuri’s laughter died out to warm contemplation. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed to talk about this until someone had given him the opportunity, and… and Phichit didn’t seem to be angry, either.

Yuuri pulled his legs out from under the railings and turned to the side to face Phichit. Like it or not, he had two more classes today and practice with Minako this afternoon. He had only a few minutes left before he’d have to attend his Learning Theory and Educational Psychology lecture.

“I’ve kind of always had a crush,” Yuuri admitted quietly. Phichit tipped his head to the side, confused. “On his skating, I mean. I never thought I’d get to know him as a person. He’s better than I hoped. Confusing, though.”

“Confusing can be good,” Phichit said with a smile, and turned his gaze out on the ocean. “I’d been accidentally using compulsion on my family left and right back in Thailand. My tutor suggested I come to train with Lilia Baranovskaya. I met Seung-gil because of her. It was the weirdest and most confusing month of my life before we realized we were matched.”

“How did you know?” Yuuri asked softly. “What you were? Who he was?”

“There are certain signs,” Phichit replied. “Sacrifices can, like, suggest things. _Push_ people. Usually only when they’re under a lot of stress or feeling something really strongly. And Fighters, sometimes they’ll have like… accidental bursts of magic. Little things.”

“Like Harry Potter things?”

Phichit laughed and shot Yuuri a sidelong glance. “I don’t know, I guess? I never had to deal with that. But I _definitely_ pushed my sister a few times. My tutor there got in contact with Lilia, and now I’m here. She taught me everything I know. Well, Mari and Minako, too.”  Phichit went quiet. He sighed and looked at Yuuri. “Mari’s not going to be happy.”

“I know,” Yuuri murmured. He tapped the bottle against the bars, the hollow metal sound ringing in his ears. “Don’t tell her, though. I don’t know what’s happening. I need a few days to work it out.”

“What kind of friend would I be if I said anything?” Phichit asked kindly. He reached out and patted Yuuri on the shoulder, then affectionately between the ears. Yuuri made a protesting sound, but didn’t pull his head away until Phichit tugged on the fuzzy tip. He squawked as Phichit laughed. “For what it’s worth, I hope it _does_ work out. I know it’s confusing, but I know you’ll be okay. I never thought I’d meet Victor Nikiforov in person. I’ve heard the rumors. So I won’t go out and pick fights with them or anything. Not unless they start it.”

Phichit winked. Against his better judgement, Yuuri would have liked to see Yuri try and pick a fight with Phichit.

Yuuri smiled as he pushed himself to his feet and offered a hand up to his friend. Phichit bumped their shoulders together, a comfortable and familiar gesture. “Okay, get going. I might go mess around at the rink for a while before I go to Statistics.”

“Say hi to Yuuko for me,” Yuuri said with an accepting nod.

“Will do. Have fun at class.”

“Ugh.”

They both laughed as Yuuri headed back toward the college.

If he’d stayed, he might have seen the figure on the other end of the bridge, sharp blue eyes focused on Phichit as he stuck around for a moment to wait. He might have seen the contemplative squint Phichit leveled him with in return. He might have seen the single hand Phichit raised to Victor in greeting before he turned and walked away, unconcerned.

He might have seen the slightly lost expression on Victor’s face as he turned away and he, too, retreated.

Neither did he see the boy across the street with the headphones around his neck that watched them all—he went entirely unnoticed.

Yuuri didn’t see those things. Maybe it was for the better.

But fate did seem to have a way of catching up eventually, whether anyone was ready or not.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rebloggable chapter post. Please reblog if you enjoy it! Reblogging is the easiest and most effective way to share your love, right up there with commenting. Without reblogs, no one who doesn't already follow me would ever see this fic. <3


	5. Careless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minako answers some of Yuuri's questions. Yuuri and Yuri have a much-needed conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello y'all! I'm back in the USA! I thought about including the next part with this chapter, but since that would have put it well up over 10k and the rest of the chapters wouldn't have fallen in line with that length, I decided to split it up. I do think this chapter covers a lot of ground, and the next SEVERAL will be well worth the wait. <3 
> 
> Thanks as always to [Rae](http://extranikiforov.tumblr.com). And thank you to everyone who has commented so far! I am still catching up on things since I was away, but now that I'm back in the country, replies should go much quicker. 

 

 

By the time the day was done, Yuuri would have been more than happy to go directly home and help his parents. However, the last stop of the afternoon was Minako’s studio, and the weight of Yuuri’s own knowledge rested heavily in his stomach.

Minako was no fool. She’d known Yuuri since he was a child, and it took hardly an hour before she spoke up.

“You have something on your mind.”

It wasn’t a question. Yuuri slowly lowered himself from his toes until his feet were flat on the floor, his arms falling to his side. Minako’s gaze was steady, though familiar enough not to feel heavy. Yuuri nodded.

She sighed, the end of her long ponytail swishing as she leaned back against the barre on her elbows. “I knew it.”

Yuuri ducked his head, sufficiently cowed, and readied himself to explain (and maybe beg for mercy) before—

“I knew we should have told you sooner, rules be damned. It was only a matter of time before you saw too much and had questions. Alright, okay.” Minako stood up straight and extended her leg, ankle hooked over the barre as she leaned forward to stretch. “Ask me whatever you want, and I’ll answer what I can.”

“I—oh.” Yuuri tugged at the lower hem of his tight vee-neck, which had started steadily creeping upward against the smooth material of his opaque black dancer’s tights. His tail hung low, ears turned outward as he fought the well of guilt in his chest. He cut a slender reflection in the full-length mirrors—black tights, black shirt, black hair, black ears and tail. Yuuri pushed his hair away from his face, the sweat of his exertions keeping it back. “I don’t have any questions, Minako-sensei.”

Minako looked up sharply, her chin rested atop her shin, body bent nearly in half with the depth of her stretch. “I don’t believe that, Yuuri. You’ve always had questions about everything. Come on, then.”

“I really—” Yuuri cut himself off. Caught up in the wave of constant motion he’d maintained until now, standing still felt like a chore. He closed his eyes and practiced simple footwork, gentle spins, ever-avoiding. After a few moments, he slowed again to a stop.

Minako released her stretch and turned, repeating her motion with the other leg. She caught Yuuri’s gaze in the mirror expectantly. “Well?”

“Victor Nikiforov,” Yuuri said slowly. Even now it felt surreal, the name felt strange to say in reference to a real person. Someone _more_ than an idol or a distant concept of a man. Instead, it named a human being who had followed Yuuri across campus like a lost dog. Held his hand. _Flirted_ with him.

Fallen asleep with his hand in Yuuri’s hair.

He couldn’t even begin to explain it to Minako, though he knew deep in his gut if he bore any sort of loyalty to her that he _should._

“Mmhm. I thought so.” Minako’s smile was wry but knowing as she stood flat-footed again. With a sigh, she fell into place at Yuuri’s side and extended her arms over her head, holding his eyes through their reflections in the mirror. Yuuri echoed her stance automatically, years of habit pulling him into familiar forms. With the first outward reaches of their arms and slow steps placed high on their toes, Minako began to talk. “He works closely with an… _instructor_ based out of Russia. I’ve never met him personally, but he’s very talented in his field. Victor and I… we’re rivals, I suppose. Sort of.”

“For you personally, or you and Mari?”

Minako made a noise that was surprised, but almost _approving._ “Both. He and his partner are our natural opponents, but Victor alone is a little bit of a legend. None of his allies could stand up to his skill. If I didn’t have Mari, he would pose a real threat to me. But as a unit, Mari and I are stronger. Much stronger.”

Minako was explaining around the edges of a picture Victor had already painted so vividly, lines that even Phichit had started to fill in. Even so, Yuuri was learning new information. He latched onto the details as they worked their way around the room in perfect synchronicity. “So Victor is good at what he does, but his partner makes him weak?”

“Well, they certainly don’t mesh.” Yuuri didn’t disagree. This time it was Minako who slowed to a stop and leveled Yuuri with an even stare. “What did he say to you?”

Yuuri ground to a halt, caught. “W-what?”

“The other night. What did he say before we got to the rink?”

The panic that had seized Yuuri bodily was swept away by a wave of relief. Minako didn’t know, he reminded himself. Minako couldn’t possibly know that Victor had accosted him on campus and that they’d spent an hour of the afternoon together. Just because his campus knew didn’t mean Minako would. And she certainly couldn’t know where Victor and Yuri had gone after she and Mari had defeated them so soundly—whatever that meant.

Yuuri’s ear twitched; he itched at it absently, and adjusted the pinch of his glasses on his nose. “Nothing, really. He tried to say the door had been open, but I had the only key, so I knew he was lying. I don’t really know how he got in…”

Well, if anything Victor had said was true, the clear answer would be _magic._ But that still seemed too impossible to Yuuri’s skeptical mind. A lockpick was more likely.

“Anything else?”

Yuuri frowned, reaching idly behind him to smooth his hand down the soft fur of his tail. He pulled it around and groomed it; any excuse to avoid looking Minako in the eyes. “He said he heard a call.”

And the meaning of _that,_ well. Yuuri wouldn’t even begin to speculate.

Victor had been looking for Mari, hadn’t he? And someone on the street must have heard him mangle his way through asking for _Katsuki._ Maybe someone their age, who knew where Yuuri spent his evenings? He knew almost everyone on campus, as most of his classmates had been brought up together through grade school, and the rest had chosen to go into local trades.

Anyone could have pointed Victor in his direction. So why did he say…?

Minako stilled. The light in her eyes was fierce, protective, speculative. “Did he, now?”

Yuuri’s ears flattened, and he pulled at the end of his tail. No matter what Victor had told him the day before, there were some intricacies of this world that Yuuri was sure he would not understand, whether he believed them or not. Minako was more attuned to them than he. Perhaps even more than Victor.

In some ways, experience really _did_ outpace talent.

But Minako had known Yuuri since he was young, a five-year-old with chubby legs and cheeks who couldn’t even manage a properly balanced plie without his tail whipping behind him. In many ways, she had been present for many of the internal conflicts that his parents had been too busy to know about. With no husband or wife or children of her own, Minako had _always_ made time for Yuuri and his anxieties.

(In fact, she’d had no attachments at all until Mari came along. Yuuri had always wondered if he would be just the same. But now…)

Minako reached out with a familiar sigh, winding her arms around Yuuri’s shoulders. In the corner of his eye, the word stood out pale on her skin— _Relentless._

“Don’t you worry about him, Yuuri. They always say to never meet your heroes. It would be better to remember Victor as the person you’ve had in your heart before now. _People_ tend to let us down.”

“Mari doesn’t let you down,” Yuuri pointed out, just to be stubborn and contrary and with absolutely no idea why he did. He bristled, tail whipping once against Minako’s leg pressed against his—an accident that he promptly flustered over.

Minako snorted gently and placed her hand squarely between his ears. “She’s not my childhood hero. Besides, Mari’s special. You’ll find someone special, too. Someone who’s waited for you their whole life.”

When Yuuri spoke next, his voice was small. “What if Victor’s special?”

That sigh again, but this time the sound of it made Yuuri prickle with how pitying it was. Minako turned and pulled Yuuri into a hug outright, his face crushed against her collarbone as she mothered him. Her hand smoothing over his head and down his back _was_ at least comforting, even if the nature of the gesture made Yuuri’s stomach drop with dread.

“Our Yuuri,” she murmured. _Our_ , she said. Still a pair, even when Mari wasn’t present. “Victor already has a Sa—someone. And once you find your partner, there will never be anyone else. Not for them _or_ for you.”

_I find it hard to stay away from you._

Yuuri’s arms wrapped around Minako out of habit more than anything else, and he clutched at the back of her shirt like a child. Minako pet him like one would comfort something small and fragile, making soothing sounds as she misinterpreted the gesture. “Look a little closer to home, Yuuri. I know you’ve admired him since you were a kid, but there’s someone out there waiting to accept who you are _now._ ”

But it had already been so _long._ All these years of being alone, waiting for something. Someone. All by himself in the meantime, filling his spare hours with teaching and dancing and skating. Enduring the days of his classmates’ whispers at his child-ears, still persistently clinging to the crown of his head; the lonely nights when he pined for someone that he could touch and hold and _keep_.

_That’s the best reason._

But that was just it, wasn’t it? Victor was intrigued by him, but he wasn’t Yuuri’s to keep.

“Okay,” Minako said to the tremble of Yuuri’s fingers, to the quiver of his ears. “I think that’s enough for today.” Her fingers worked small concentric circles on Yuuri’s tense shoulders as he forced himself to relax, to let go, to stop _clinging_ like he was starved for affection (he was).

“I’m sorry, Minako-sensei,” Yuuri murmured, pulling himself away with drooping ears and smarting eyes. He rubbed at them, his glasses creeping up his forehead with the press of his fists. “I’ll do better tomorrow.”

“You danced beautifully Yuuri. That’s all I ever ask for.” Minako reached back to pull her hair down from her ponytail, casual grace. She was as beautiful at forty-eight as she’d been at thirty-six, her body still lean and carefully maintained. The only signs of her age were the laugh lines around her mouth and the gentle crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes, usually hidden with makeup and moisture creams and the simple truth of good genetics. “Do you want to come over for dinner? I know Mari would be glad to see you after the other day.”

Yuuri shook his head a little. No, if Minako hadn’t realized exactly what was on Yuuri’s mind, it would take barely a glance from Mari to wheedle all his secrets from him. That was the blessing and the curse of siblings.

“I have papers to grade, so I need to get home and work on those. Thanks, though.” He went about gathering his things, packing his dance shoes and water bottle into his backpack. He pulled his jeans back up over his dance tights, his light jacket over his shirt which was damp with sweat.

Minako wrinkled her nose. “Shower here?”

“I’ll do it at the onsen,” Yuuri replied. He didn’t like walking home damp any more than anyone else, but there was no sense in getting clean at the studio, then pre-bathing a second time before he soaked his muscles at home. Until then, he would just endure being coated with sweat, as clammy as he felt. He could only hope the autumn breeze off the ocean wouldn’t be too strong; he didn’t want to catch a chill on his walk across the sound.

Yuuri patted his pocket, reassuring himself that he had all his belongings, and followed Minako out of the studio. In the hallway he toed into his waiting street shoes and bid her goodbye.

“Yuuri!” She called after him, and Yuuri paused. “If you see those two around… call me.”

Yuuri didn’t have to ask which _two_ she meant. With guilt heavy in his chest and a lump in his throat, Yuuri nodded and held up a hand in silent farewell, and started the walk home.

 

* * *

 

What Yuuri expected when he entered his family home, damp and exhausted and heavy with guilt, was _certainly_ not Victor wearing sweatpants and a tee shirt and _Mari’s old apron_ while he bussed tables. _Absolutely_ not with his hair in that messy high-set bun.

Yuuri nearly turned around and walked right back out to see if that would somehow reset reality. He didn’t get a chance when Hiroko emerged with another plate and hollered a warm _Okaeri!_ as greeting. Victor turned to face him and _smiled_ , and—

“Oh, great,” Yuri grumbled, glancing up from the low table in the corner, his laptop open in front of him. “He’s back.”

“Yura! Rude!” Victor chided as he passed him, and ruffled him between the ears. Yuri’s tail thumped irritably on the tatami and he swatted at Victor as he went. Victor stopped in front of him, plate held in one hand, free hand on his hip.  His smile was small and warm; it felt almost too private, like it wasn’t something for anyone else to see. “Welcome home.”

The weight in Yuuri’s chest eased. Though he still felt guilty about lying to Minako, this… didn’t feel wrong.

“H–hi,” Yuuri stammered. He kicked out of his shoes and stepped into a pair of house slippers, still well over an arm’s reach away. “Um, I hope you weren’t too bored…” Yuuri eyed the apron contemplatively. Was that flour? “Were you helping my mom cook?”

“I was trying,” Victor replied, his smile turning sheepish. “But my Japanese isn’t very good.”

And Hiroko’s English was limited at best. Oh, they were quite the pair. Yuuri laughed, covering his face with a hand at the thought.

“Vicchan!” Hiroko called fondly, indulgently, a tone Yuuri had never heard her use on anyone but family. She gave a little wave from around the kitchen doorway. “Isoide ne.”

“Hai!” Victor was all smiles, a flush high on his cheeks, shining like the sun. Yuuri was struck dumb as Victor turned back to him with a stupid grin. “That’s really about all the Japanese I know. Sorry, Yuuri, I should keep helping! You should drag Yura back to the bath. I think it helped him sleep last night. How about we make you something to eat?”

And then he was gone, his silver bun bobbing behind him as he trotted off to follow Hiroko.

Yuuri wasn’t exactly in a position to drag anyone anywhere, but he _did_ take Victor’s suggestion and approached the table where Yuri sat. He turned a baleful green glare up at Yuuri. “What do you want?”

Maybe being up front would be the best approach. Yuuri hitched his bag up on his shoulder. “I need to put this away, but after that I’m gonna take a bath. You should come with me.”

Yuri bristled, his frown etched deep in his face in a way that would leave lasting wrinkles by the time he was forty if he wasn’t careful. “Why?”

Yuuri huffed through his nose, and the very tip of his tail twitched. _Kids_ , he told himself. _I want to teach kids._ “Why not? Did you not like the onsen?”

Yuri’s nostrils flared. It was clear he didn’t really _want_ to go with Yuuri anywhere, but neither did he really have much of a choice. He closed the lid of his laptop and sent Yuuri an irritated glance. “Fine. I have to put this in my room.”

“I’ll meet you out there. Bring spare clothes,” Yuuri replied mildly as he turned toward the hallway, leaving Yuri’s grumblings behind him.

 _Victor wants this,_ Yuuri told himself as he set his backpack in his room and fished a clean set of casual clothes from his closet. _Victor asked me to do this._

All the while, Yuuri had to ask himself why the hell it was he _cared_ so much what Victor wanted.

He didn’t have a good answer.

Yuuri lingered in the doorway, eyes stuck on the bundled futon in the corner and the rumpled blankets on his childhood bed. It took every ounce of self control to not climb in and close his eyes and breathe, absorb this strange space that Victor had been and that Yuuri could be because it was _his_ and belonged to _him—_ only the fact that he was still damp with sweat and shivering held him back.

 _Bath_ , his mind said. _Bath first, sleep later._

Say nothing of the rest.

Yuuri found his way downstairs and deposited his laundry into the hamper, and found Yuri had already washed. He grumbled impatiently and tapped his foot in a puddle as Yuuri squinted and washed his hair, dragged a soaped cloth over his body to rinse away the grime of the day.

“Aren’t you done yet?” Yuri huffed.

Yuuri frowned despite the fact that, with his back turned, he knew Yuri couldn’t see it. “I spent six hours teaching and an hour and a half dancing. I’ll be done in a minute.”

Yuri’s foot-tapping stopped. “You dance?”

Yuuri lifted his head, soap suds lathered in his hair. Of all the things to catch Yuri’s attention, _dance?_ “Um, yeah.” Yuuri turned on the small extendable shower head and bent his head over the drain, eyes closed against the bubbles as he finally rinsed. He huffed to rid his mouth of the soapy water that had caught on his lips and turned, the tiny bath towel barely shielding his lap. “Since I was a kid. That’s how I know Minako.”

“You dance with _Okukawa Minako?”_ Was that a tinge of jealousy Yuuri heard in his voice? Yuri’s ears twitched as Yuuri looked up at him, and he stubbornly looked away. “She’s… good.”

“If you think so, why are you and Victor picking fights with her and my sister?” Yuuri stood and wobbled on his feet, sore but manageable. His tail swished lazily behind him as he made his way to the outdoor pool, Yuri trailing at his heels. It was easier not to be self-conscious when Victor wasn’t around. He wasn’t sure why that was, but it definitely called for careful thought.

“It’s not like we want to,” Yuri protested, the stubborn tone of a stubborn child. Yuuri turned once he was submerged, a sigh heavy on his lips. Yuri was flushed and pink and baring his teeth, hissing as he dipped a toe into the hot water and pulled it out again. “Too hot.”

“It’s not going to cool down anytime soon,” Yuuri replied with a soft laugh. “What do you mean you don’t want to? Then why do it?”

Yuri huffed as he stepped in, the hot water near the steps only reaching his ankles. Still, his pale skin quickly flushed a heated pink, and Yuri looked visibly uncomfortable at the temperature difference.

Yuuri winced sympathetically. “It might just be easier to get in all at once.”

“Shut up.” Still, Yuri took in a deep breath and _whimpered_ as he walked it up to his waist, hissing and twitching all the way. His ears folded back and that pink flush quickly traveled up his chest and made itself known high in his cheeks. “Hot hot hot hot—”

Yuuri had always grown up with the hot water being a constant, soothing balm. But he’d heard from foreigners passing through that it could be hard to handle at times. He didn’t envy Yuri the pain he seemed to be in, even if the springs weren’t nearly hot enough to cause any damage—just momentary discomfort.

Yuuri let him wallow and distanced himself while he shut his eyes, tipping his head back as he soaked his muscles. He sighed softly as the relief worked its way up his back, down his thighs. Minako was as relentless as her name, even as a dance instructor. He couldn’t speak for her supposed battle skills, but if she fought anything like she taught, Yuuri could understand how her opponents had faced a resounding defeat.

Things went quiet after a moment; Yuri stopped hissing, and the water was still around their bodies. Yuuri let his eyes stay closed, unconcerned.

“Victor’s good at fighting. He’s known for it,” Yuri said finally. Yuuri opened his eyes, but kept them trained on the steam rising into the sky as he floated on his back. “He’s the best. And he’s supposed to have a strong partner. And I’m strong but… I’m the wrong kind of strong, I guess.”

It was introspection that raised more questions than it answered. Yuuri adjusted his weight until he bobbed upright again. Yuri carefully avoided his gaze.

“Why Mari and Minako?” Yuuri asked.

“Because they know where Lilia is,” Yuri replied with a scoff, like that much should be obvious. “And we need to find her. She has the matching data. And she ditched Yakov. That’s really shitty.”

Yuuri blinked slowly. “Ditched?”

“Yeah. She was his Sacrifice and she left him. There’s nothing worse.” Yuri went quiet. His tail flickered through the water, and he lowered himself so his mouth barely touched the steaming surface. When he looked at Yuuri, his expression was tentative. Vulnerable. “So even though it’s not great, I can’t leave Victor. You know? If this is what it is, then this is what it is. He’ll take care of me, and it’s better than being hungry on the street.”

Yuri grimaced, and turned a fearsome scowl on Yuuri. “Don’t tell him I said that, though. His head will get too big if he thinks I like him.”

Yuuri blinked slowly. The words came to him and escaped, unbidden. “Then why tell me at all?”

Yuri shrugged. His shoulders were bunched with tension, skinny and slender, every inch the growing and immature teen his attitude made him out to be. “Because he likes you a lot. More than I’ve ever seen him like anyone.” If Yuuri had any more time to react, he might’ve been shocked. Ashamed. But Yuri pressed on, seemingly unconcerned with the bomb he’d just dropped. “And I know I should care more that he _does,_ but I don’t. Victor’s just Victor. He’s family. But he’s not… I mean, we’re not…”

Yuri trailed off into troubled silence. Yuuri had no words to fill it with.

His heart was in his throat when Yuri turned to look at him, damp strands of blonde hair tangled around his perked ears. “Look. I have a question, and I don’t have anyone else to ask. You’re a teacher, right? So you know a bunch of people.” Yuri cleared his throat. He looked conflicted. “And I met someone, and I think they’re cool. But I need to know if they’re _cool_ cool. You know? ...trustworthy.”

“You’re asking me?” Yuuri couldn’t deny he was surprised. “Why?”

“I dunno. Teachers know that sort of stuff.” Yuri wrinkled his nose. Yuuri didn’t have the heart to correct him about being a TA when Yuri was finally reaching out. Technicalities, he supposed. “His name’s Otabek. He wants to be friends.”

The name was familiar—Yuuri frowned as he thought, and the image of a transfer student came to mind. “Oh. Yeah, I mean, I know _of_ him.” Yuuri turned a thoughtful glance to Yuri. “He does his homework and he pays attention in class. I’ve seen him studying by the bridge a couple of times, and around the library. But I don’t know him very _well.”_

Even so, Yuri let out a breath he seemed to have been holding. The hints of a smile pulled at his lips. If only the kid smiled more often, Yuuri thought. He might actually be kind of cute instead of looking so sour all the time.

“But he’s nice?” Yuri asked, torn between his smile and ever-persistent frown. “Like, you don’t think he’s a douchebag?”

Yuuri snorted despite himself. “No, he’s pretty nice. He usually keeps to himself, but he’s definitely not a—” Yuuri cut himself off. “He’s not mean.”

“Oh. Good. That’s good.” Yuri looked satisfied. Maybe even pleased. “He seemed nice to me too, but. You know. It’s hard to tell sometimes. Thanks, I guess.”

“No problem.” Yuuri smiled to himself. It was good to know that Yuri was capable of being a normal teenager after all, magic and mayhem aside.

“...I guess I should have waited to give him my phone number until after I asked that, though, huh?” Yuri dipped his face forward until it was submerged in the water, a stream of bubbles and muffled noise disrupting the surface as he groaned. When he pulled himself back upright, he seemed more like a wet kitten, the blonde fur of his ears looking nearly brown, saturated and matted together.

Yuuri muffled his laughter in his fist. “Maybe.”

“I just had a feeling about him, and—ugh, why am I telling you this?” Yuri sneered and turned his head away, sour once more.

Yuuri floated aimlessly in the water, considering Yuri’s back where it was turned to him. He sighed and said, “Yeah, I know how that can be.”

Yuri turned back to face him, expression complicated and young, very young—but not entirely naive. It was the look of someone thinking very hard about someone they cared about and making a decision, for better or for worse. “I know he slept in your room. And I don’t care. I should care, but I don’t.” Yuri’s frown grew deep, unhappy, unsettled. “And I don’t want that sort of thing with Victor at all. He’s old and annoying and treats me like I’m five. But his name is supposed to be on me someday. I don’t know if that’ll change things. If it does, that’d be stupid. It’d be changing my mind _for_ me and I’d _hate_ that. But…”

Guilt.

Guilt, guilt, guilt. Here Yuuri was getting in the middle of something he didn’t belong in—he was supposed to be a damn adult. He should know better.

“I know he’s not mine,” Yuuri said softly, even though the words screamed _wrong._ “You don’t have to worry.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want him to be mine, either.” Yuri’s expression crumbled. “I won’t send him away if he _is._ He’s nice. But this isn’t what they told me about when they explained the bond, you know? It’s just… not. And I wish it didn’t feel so shitty to hope they made some kind of mistake. He deserves better than that. Just don’t tell him I said so.”

Yuri skimmed his hands across the surface of the simmering spring, lost and out of his depth in a way that didn’t involve the water around him. His ears folded down and back, vulnerable as he sank down deeper and let the heat surround him, the closest thing to a warm embrace for miles around. Yuuri would offer, but he knew Yuri wouldn’t accept it. Not from him. Probably not from Victor, either.

“I won’t tell,” Yuuri replied. “Maybe things will work out… you know?”

Yuuri’s ears were still low and his back was turned when he quietly asked, “How?” The water crested over his shoulders, his voice reflecting off the surface of the pool. “We’re stuck together and he _still_ likes you more than he likes me.”

Yuuri’s ears folded down in response. “That’s not true. He loves you.”

Yuri was quiet for a moment. “Yeah. And you’ve known him two days and you already know how he thinks. You don’t even have to _try._ He just opens up to you. Ignores me when I call because he’s happy spending time with you.”

Yuuri wondered if there was ever a time he would be in the same room as Yuri and not feel guilty. “He shouldn’t do that. I’ll tell him not to.”

“And he’ll listen because you asked him to.” Yuri turned, but to Yuuri’s surprise, he didn’t look angry—just resigned. That was almost worse. “Like I said. I don’t want him. But I guess I wish I had something that easy.”

The silence between them was strained.

“I don’t care what you do. But you should know when this is over, he’s going home with me because he’ll have to. So… you should only get into what you can live with. Because that’s the truth.” Yuri looked away, ears still lowered, his tail swishing through the water in a slow arc as he wrapped his slender arms around himself. “We came here for Lilia and the matching data. And when we have that, we’ll have our answers. One way or another.”

Yuuri choked down the words that raised themselves unbidden in his throat, cloying and heavy and entirely inappropriate. _Should I take that as permission?_

Instead he could only take it for what it was—the insecure murmurings of a stranded teenaged boy so far away from home. He’d return from where he came in due time. When that time came, Victor would be gone, too.

_You should only get into what you can live with._

It might even sound wise if Yuri weren’t trying to warn him off.

But how could Yuuri turn his back now that Victor had inserted himself into his life? In his days, in his home, in his bedroom? There wasn’t anything to be done. Just a wave to ride from the bay to the shore, the crash at the end as inevitable as the tide.

Yuuri had never felt so impractical in his life.

“Okay,” he said for lack of anything better to say. It was an acknowledgement, at the very least, if not acceptance. Not yet.

“Don’t hurt him.”

Yuuri stared at Yuri’s back.

“You don’t know him enough to know what he’s like. He’s not someone to fuck with. I know he seems like an idiot, and he is. But you don’t know him. What he does. So don’t hurt him. You don’t want to see that side of him. Or me.”

Yuri turned, a skinny pale spectre under the glow of the lamplight. His eyes were narrowed, bright green, sharp as the angles of his slender body all wrapped around himself, as the points his tail made as it lashed through the water. He leveled his fierce gaze on Yuuri. Waiting.

Gooseflesh raised on Yuuri’s arms. He made no open gesture, no nod or even a sound. He met Yuri’s eyes evenly; despite it all, Yuuri was not intimidated. But a challenge was a challenge, and maybe there was just a little bit of _Relentless_ inside him as well.

 _He who speaks first loses_.

“Well?” Yuri pushed.

Yuuri was not the losing type. “I understand.”

Yuri glowered at him. Yuuri watched him in return, placid and unperturbed. There were worse things in the world than the ire of an adolescent, but the threat still stood—aside from the simmering certainty of one thing that rendered it all moot.

_I could never hurt him._

But it seemed too raw, too honest to admit out loud to someone who had more of a claim than Yuuri ever could. So Yuuri bit his tongue and took a breath, his ears turning outward as he ducked his head and hid the truth of his expression from Yuri’s view.

He was sure he appeared contrite. That seemed enough for Yuri, who turned his back on him once more. “Whatever. Don’t cry or anything.” Uncomfortable, and then demanding, “I’m hungry. Are we getting dinner or what?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri answered. “I’m done.”

There would be a time that maybe they could have a real conversation, but now was not it. Tonight there was only a shaky truce and the blessing of Yuri’s indifference.

Yuuri would take what he could get.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [rebloggable chapter post.](http://maydei.tumblr.com/post/166850062702/title-fated-pairing-victuuri-victor) don't worry, we're back to the yuuri and victor show very soon. :3c
> 
> Yo, since I’ve had some people express concern about it: 
> 
> Fated is not going to be as dark as the Loveless canon. Loveless really is a twisted story with a lot of complicated things going on, and though Fated is based within that verse and there are mentions of some of the characters, the story I have planned is very much based around the characters from the YOI-verse. 
> 
> Victor’s backstory is nothing like Soubi’s. Aside from mention of Seimei’s actions in Loveless canon, that generation of drama is over and done. The story revolves around the relationship between Victor and Yuuri, as well as Yuuri’s loyalty to his friends and family, and his (rather benign) moral struggles trying to align the two.
> 
> Aside from emotional drama and slow burn nonsense, this fic should be relatively palatable for all in terms of content. There won’t be anything great and terrible aside from some mild spell battles later down the line, and some emotional journeys to be had. If this story was going to be dark, believe me, I would’ve warned you. 
> 
> No, really. I’m saving up my darkness points for my next project.
> 
> Anyway, hope that eases some minds for those who were worried. Really, by my standards, this fic is actually going to be rather sweet once they get through all the mumbo-jumbo and some Diet Pining™.


	6. Lightless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The distance between Victor and Yuuri continues to shrink. Yuuri makes a critical choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much to everyone who has commented so far. I've been literally so dead with jet lag that I haven't had the energy to do anything, so I'm really really sorry I haven't responded yet!! I swear I'm seeing them all and they make me smile so much. Please don't stop on my account.... in fact, please continue on my account. <3 Beta work done by the lovely [Rae](http://extranikiforov.tumblr.com), as always. 
> 
>   **EDIT:** now with a gorgeous commission from Nae. [Reblog it here.](http://nae812.tumblr.com/post/171138826887/one-more-commission-for-maydei-3-you-can-should)

 

 

Despite Victor’s fledgling Japanese, he had managed to make something warm and savory and delicious for dinner in tandem with Hiroko. It may have been due to hand gestures and frantic nods, Victor admitted later, but Yuuri had to admit that it didn’t diminish the result.

Victor barely blinked when Yuri scarfed down his food and retreated to leave them in each other’s company. He may have even been a little thankful for it. Yuuri might have been, too.

Even frazzled and a little sweaty with his flyaway hairs escaping from his bun, Victor was the best part of Yuuri’s day.

It should have been more concerning than it was.

Maybe it would end badly. Maybe in a few weeks Yuuri’s heart would be broken and he would regret the choices he’d made. Maybe he _would_ hurt Victor entirely by accident and would face the side of him that Yuri had promised and Yuuri had never seen.

But if he should only get into what he could live with, he couldn’t imagine living with _not_ making use of this time.

And it was with that in mind as Victor argued and _insisted_ upon taking the floor that night, that Yuuri paused with his heart in his throat and looked at his tiny mattress and said, “We could share.”

Victor went silent. His eyes lingered on the bed before they found their way to Yuuri. He clutched the top blanket of the bedroll in his hands, looking every inch the average patron in the green jinbei and with the onsen’s standard sheets in his hands, but Victor was anything but average.

His eyes found Yuuri’s. Uncertain. Hopeful. “Really?”

Yuuri sank down on the edge of the bed. His ears turned outward slowly as his hand skimmed the soft, worn cloth of his comforter. It was old and thin, paired with a few sheets for the nights that were neither too hot nor too cold, the threads patchy and misshapen with age. Yuuri hadn’t ever noticed the state of his own covers; it made him wonder about Victor’s room and how it compared to his own. Would it be well-loved and lived-in? Or would it be sterile and perfunctory, a place for rest and nothing more?

It seemed such a crucial piece of his personal history that Yuuri longed to know, but didn’t dare ask for. Instead, he patted the place at his side in a motion for Victor to sit.

He did, bringing blankets and all. His Olympic jacket was still in a bundle near Yuuri’s pillow. They both looked at it, so out of place—a flare of bright red among a sea of tepid blue.

Victor shifted. He opened his mouth and closed it again. Before he even spoke, Yuuri knew he was at war with himself. This felt right—but whether because of propriety or concern for Yuuri’s sensibilities, Victor felt he should question it, and perhaps deny himself altogether.

Yuuri didn’t want to let him get that far. “I’m sure,” Yuuri said to the unasked question, because the conflict was so obvious that Victor didn’t have to. His tail curled in nervous little twirls behind them, but Yuuri had made up his mind, so long as Victor was willing.

Victor ducked his head and tipped it toward Yuuri, his smile barely hidden, undeniably pleased. His lashes fluttered against his cheeks, a motion that Yuuri would call completely unfair if he’d thought that Victor had done it on purpose. “Yuuri…”

_“Stay.”_

Victor glanced up. His eyes were as even as they were assessing.

Yuuri flustered. He hadn’t meant that to sound half as commanding as it came out. “I just—”

Victor leaned into Yuuri’s side wholly, the blanket he’d dragged with him still tied between his fingers. Yuuri’s self-made protest died where it lay.

“As long as you’d like,” Victor murmured in return.

Pleased and shaken with himself in equal parts, Yuuri’s heart pounded against his ribcage. “I–I didn’t mean to sound—”

“I don’t mind.” Victor bumped their shoulders together. “Should I get the lights?”

Yuuri was hyper-aware of his own body, and of Victor’s. The only remedy was to move. “I can.” But the motion didn’t take long enough; the brightness of Yuuri’s room disappeared into the faint glow of the moon through his curtains. The almost shocking loss of light burned the image of Victor curling onto his side into Yuuri’s retinas, and the sharp focus of Victor’s eyes in that moment remained, even in the dark.

Yuuri stood by the doorway, frozen in the mash of rainbow colors that came from his eyes readjusting. The blur became no more or less distinct when Yuuri pulled his glasses off and set them on his desk, wishing for all the world that there was some way to get back from Point B to Point A with his sanity intact. Ideally without falling on Victor, either.

His tail swayed behind him, an instinctual counterbalance to the sudden uncertainty of his footing. Yuuri picked his way slowly across the small, lightless space like it was much larger than it was. Of course, the tension in his body made everything feel more difficult.

Yuuri’s knees made contact with the edge of the bed. He felt Victor shuffle closer to the wall, making just enough room for Yuuri to slide in beside him.

Yuuri hesitated _(there would be no going back from this, he would never un-know what it was like to sleep beside Victor, to be so close to someone he wanted so much)_ but only for a moment.

Victor’s eyes were wide, his breathing uneven, and yet he didn’t reach out. Yuuri stared at the shape of him in the bare inches that separated their bodies. He thought of turning over so they might be back to back, so he could actually _sleep_ , but he should have known that would be impossible from the moment he’d allowed Victor to share his space.

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if he should say anything at all.

Yuuri’s ears quivered and twitched, his tail thumping rebelliously against the mattress with the force of his electric nerves. The photo negative between his skin and Victor’s held more pull than any magnet Yuuri had ever known.

This was his most terrible idea yet.

But then Victor reached, slowly and carefully and giving Yuuri more than enough time to dodge if he’d so wanted, and the his finger traced the curve of Yuuri’s ear. His eyes were rapt in the dark, pupils dilated to take in every molecule of light.

Yuuri swallowed, and then his traitorous ear twitched right against Victor’s knuckles.

Victor’s startled, warm huff of breath was so much more than Yuuri could have dreamed of. And before he could ask (and he knew he should), Yuuri shuffled closer until their arms brushed, still tucked close to their bodies. Their knees bumped, though with little force, between the awkward tango of limbs they were trying to avoid rearranging at all costs.

Rearranging meant drifting apart—or getting closer. Yuuri wasn’t sure he was ready for either, and he wasn’t sure he could live without.

Victor didn’t push any more than he had, but the backs of his fingers skimmed over the soft cone of Yuuri’s child-ears, back and forth in a slow but even metronome. His eyes held Yuuri’s all the while, though the wide-eyed stare drifted into something more half-lidded, sated and soothed and calm, like having his hands on Yuuri was a habit, and his to have.

So Yuuri reached back.

He pushed in closer—until his leg was tucked securely between the welcoming warmth of Victor’s thighs, until Yuuri’s hand pushed over Victor’s waist and smoothed over his back. The other, still stuck between their bodies, curled around Victor’s open collar. His own knuckles were a livewire to Victor now, resting just inside the soft cotton against his pounding heart.

It was gratifying to know this wasn’t all one-sided, and _oh—_ Victor collapsed inward, arms hooked under Yuuri’s and around him, legs drawing closer between them. Without a word, without a sound, Victor wound the two of them together until there would be no easy way to break them apart. Long limbs and slender lines made small enough to fit in Yuuri’s arms. No permission asked. No forgiveness needed.

Yuuri got a faceful of Victor’s messy bun. His shaky exhales dampened Yuuri’s neck, and his hold was tight enough to bruise. Yuuri’s ears flattened, not at the too-hard grasp of Victor’s fingers against his skin, but at the tremor of his hands.

Victor was hurting. Yuuri didn’t know why, and he cared more than he could understand.

Yuuri nudged at his side, gentle but insistent. His tail twitched. “Turn over.”

Victor’s arms contracted around him pitifully. “Yuuri, please, don’t—”

“Trust me,” Yuuri soothed. He rubbed his hand over Victor’s back again, flattening the wrinkles on the back of his shirt. Under the press of Yuuri’s palm, Victor unwittingly relaxed. “I’m not gonna push you away. _Trust me.”_

“I…” Victor stared up at him as Yuuri held himself up with one arm. There was something powerful and enticing about this, about having Victor flat on his back and staring up at Yuuri with thinly-veiled worry and equally-present want. “I do.”

Yuuri’s hand remained on Victor’s waist as he turned, close and present and touching all the while. When Victor settled, it was with his back brushing against Yuuri’s chest, his hair in its mussed bun against Yuuri’s pillowcase. Yuuri could feel the protest building behind Victor’s ribs, the insistence that before had been _better._ Yuuri sought to rectify that. He fit himself into the negative of Victor’s body, filled up all those empty spaces and hoped it would be enough to take up the rest of the air in Victor’s lungs and steal his protests before he could voice them.

It was.

Yuuri’s arms around him were solid, and when he wove his fingers together with Victor’s, hands anchored together on the solid plane of his belly, Yuuri finally felt the tension seep out of Victor’s shoulders. He pressed his face against the back of Victor’s neck, tried not to think about the implications of spooning, and just _breathed._

Yuuri’s calf hitched over the top of Victor’s, resting between his legs. The feeling of Victor’s cold toes against Yuuri’s Achilles tendon was shockingly intimate. Yuuri swallowed; one of his ears was uncomfortably crushed under his head, but he couldn’t bear to move. The arm pinned under Victor’s weight would be asleep long before they were.

Victor pressed back against him with a shudder of a sigh and shifted in Yuuri’s arms until he was comfortable. The quiet, desperate sound he made went straight to Yuuri’s chest.

“Tighter,” Victor whispered, and it nearly broke his heart.

But he did, because there was nothing else he could do, even when Yuuri feared it would be too much. But at the point where he feared Victor would hurt, he only heard a murmur of satisfaction.

In the dim light, Yuuri was finally starting to be able to see again. As he pressed closer and glanced over the swell of Victor’s shoulder, he saw their hands woven together; the bright sheen and blurry shape of the letters was a cruel reminder that had Yuuri’s ears flattening.

He covered Victor’s name with his palm.

Here, _now,_ what was fated or not didn’t matter.

“I don’t want to find her.” The confession was pained. Yuuri squeezed him tighter, trying to tell him without words that Victor didn’t have to say these things if he didn’t want to, he didn’t _owe_ Yuuri anything for this. Maybe their contact in and of itself was its own payment. Yuuri liked holding Victor far too much for someone who should well be considered a stranger.

But the curiosity won out, as it always did. “Lilia?”

Victor nodded against the pillow.

Yuuri nosed at the back of his neck, re-settling himself in the most base sort of way. Mindlessly consuming sensation, barely connected to his own brain. His tail draped over their legs, curled around them both. He let the question stretch the quiet between them, leaving it up to Victor what he would or wouldn’t offer. It wasn’t for Yuuri to ask.

Victor squeezed at Yuuri’s hands. He spoke like it was easier to confess these things to the empty room instead of Yuuri’s face, but maybe Yuuri was wrong. Maybe it was just easier to spill the words out with the reassurance of warmth at his back. He couldn’t be sure.

“She doesn’t want to be found, which means there’s a good chance she used us and never loved us at all. I don’t think Yakov could bear to hear it from her in person. And I don’t know if I’ll be able to, either.”

Yuuri pressed his face to Victor’s shoulder. The idea of anyone hurting Victor was just….

“Was she kind?” Yuuri asked.

Victor leaned back into him, leaving no space unoccupied. His voice was wistful, tinged with exhaustion and memory soured by separation. “She taught me how to braid my hair,” he murmured. “She took me to skate even after I wasn’t allowed to compete. She told me all about Fighters and Sacrifices. About the way things were before _Beloved,_ when we could be free and didn’t have to be protected and hidden.”

Victor trailed off into contemplative quiet. “Before they rebuilt the Academy, she asked me if I wanted to live with them. She and Yakov were perfect. Perfectly in sync. Perfectly complementary. I never knew anything was wrong until after she was gone. I don’t know if that’s kind or not.”

“You loved her?”

Victor turned his face into the pillow. He nodded, the wispy strands of his bun brushing Yuuri’s cheeks.

Overcome with the strength of Victor’s sadness, Yuuri swept his thumb back and forth across his belly, the only comforting gesture he could manage while holding Victor as tight as he was. “You still love her.”

Victor nodded again.

Yuuri sighed, the warmth of his own breath caught in the fabric of Victor’s shirt at the back of his neck. Victor shivered and pressed back into Yuuri insistently.

Yuuri’s lips brushed the skin at his nape as he spoke. “It wasn’t fair for them to send you here. You shouldn’t have to do this.”

It was a near thing to not press a kiss there. No matter what they were sharing, that wasn’t his right.

It wasn’t _right._

No matter how right it felt.

“No one else can,” Victor replied. “I’m the best chance we have. I’m the _best_ we have.” His voice was thick with frustration that he didn’t dare to show during the day. “And if I just had—if we just could have—if Yura just _listened to me—”_

Yuuri wanted to let Victor let loose, but winding himself into a frenzy this late at night would only lend itself to exhaustion tomorrow. With that in mind, Yuuri guided their hands upward until they were pressed against Victor’s chest and Yuuri’s forehead was nuzzled into the crook of his neck. He shuffled his legs upward until they were curled together more completely, the swell of Victor’s rear cradled by the curve of Yuuri’s hips.

Yuuri flushed and hoped to every god in the sky that he could hold himself together for Victor’s sake. The least sensitive thing he could do right now would be to get hard. He bit down on the inside of his own cheek and tried to find _peace_ in being so close, rather than arousal.

And he waited.

It didn’t take long for Victor to decompress. The air left him in a slow hiss, the anger leaking outward and dissipating in the moonlight. He made a curious little noise as he shifted, and Yuuri nearly choked on his tongue at the shift of Victor’s ass against him. As close as they were, it would be nearly impossible to pitch his hips back and away and still hold Victor as tightly as he did.

But luckily—or, at least to the relief of Yuuri’s conscience—Victor settled, and did not push that fragile line.

Yuuri told himself he was not disappointed.

“I’m sorry,” Victor murmured, and Yuuri knew that he wasn’t talking about the threat of an untimely erection. Instead it was for the sour frustration that Yuuri was even now trying to coax out of him, away from him. “We just… weren’t supposed to lose.”

“You never considered it?” Yuuri asked.

“I never let myself.” Victor sighed. “But he wasn’t ready. I should have known better. If this were _right_ , I _would_ have known better without him having to tell me.”

Yuuri let the pause between them stretch. “Minako said you’re a legend. That if she didn’t have Mari, you’d be a threat to her.”

Victor tipped his head back, and their temples brushed, not quite close enough to see each other’s faces. But the proximity lended itself to natural intimacy as Victor rubbed his cheek over Yuuri’s hair, as one of Yuuri’s ears twitched against his face. Victor huffed out a surprised, elated giggle.

Yuuri’s heart clenched with a dangerously raw thrill of joy.

He was still warm with affection that Yuuri did not deserve—he had no forever to promise Victor. He had nothing more to offer than a twin mattress and someone to waste his time with. How could that be enough (no matter how he wanted it to be so desperately)?

“I worked hard,” Victor replied after a moment. “But I think it’s fair to say there’s some talent there. I don’t know why, or where it came from. It was just always part of me.”

Yuuri thought for a moment about not saying what he said next. In the end, he couldn’t resist, no matter whether it was his right or not. “Will you show me?”

Victor made a tiny little sound and jostled them both as he turned swiftly in Yuuri’s arms. Their eyes met in the dark, Yuuri’s arm pinned beneath Victor’s shoulder that bore the brunt of his weight. Victor squeezed one of Yuuri’s hands, but the other pulled free—he reached up with shaking fingers to skim the line of Yuuri’s jaw. The path of his fingertips stalled at the corner of Yuuri’s mouth. Silver letters glimmered at the edge of Yuuri’s vision, so close, so unfair in their honesty.

_Fated,_ they said. And Yuuri was not.

But Yuuri swallowed; his ears betrayed him, perked forward with singular focus, his tail a slow curl behind him, every nerve focused on Victor. And when his thumb brushed the underside of Yuuri’s lip, Yuuri knew they were in dangerous territory indeed.

“You’d want that?” Victor asked, and Yuuri hoped like hell he still meant the magic, hoped he wasn’t agreeing to something that he didn’t think he was in any proper state to decide right now.

He nodded anyway, all breath and all reason caught behind the cage of his teeth.

The way Victor looked at him wasn’t fair. Yuuri wondered if he even knew he was doing it. “It’s battle magic,” Victor warned softly. There was an edge to his voice now, a little desperate, a little pleading. “I don’t want to hurt you, Yuuri.”

That piece of Victor was tinged with fear—the old kind borne in reason that Yuuri did not yet know. It called for him just as strongly, called for reassurance, so Yuuri gave it.

He covered the mark again, hid Victor’s name behind the nervous warmth of his own hand, and tried not to linger on the fact that, like this, Victor’s palm was pressed to Yuuri’s face. That Yuuri was holding him there. That Victor was easily close enough to kiss, and Yuuri wanted that as much as Victor wanted his approval, his comfort.

The guilt of that felt like a lead weight. It anchored Yuuri within the realms of sanity, if only barely.

“You won’t.”

It was perhaps the only thing that Yuuri was truly sure of.

Yuuri did not kiss him, but he guided their hands together back to Victor’s chest, pressed tight over the thundering beat of his heart. He pressed his forehead to the flyaway baby hairs at Victor’s temple, a quiet intimate moment that lasted until Victor’s breath shuddered open on a sigh and he turned over once more. He clutched Yuuri’s hands even closer than before, pulled up to his sternum, held at the base of his throat.

Pushed by Victor’s very presence, Yuuri pushed in return; his fingers spread wide, warm and possessive, a loose collar around Victor’s neck. He felt Victor’s whimper in his bones, felt the rabbit’s run of Victor’s pulse against his skin. Felt Victor arch into that touch like there was nothing more he wanted in the world.

“You’re right,” he admitted, and it sounded like a sob.

Yuuri learned something that night, as Victor finally drifted off in the protective cage of his arms. No matter where things went, no matter how long Victor stayed, no matter when he left, Yuuri would not escape this unscathed. There were already parts of himself that were surfacing—the embers of urges he’d stepped on and thought them sufficiently ground out under his own heel. Even now, years later, they glowed. Waiting.

There was a radiant warmth to Victor’s body that could awaken any fire, a desire for the kind of touch that young Yuri would never think to give a man known for his strength and hailed as a legend. Victor’s needs were an itch at the back of his mind.

Victor’s heart had ripped a hole in Yuuri’s defenses. And even now, Yuuri was pulling that chasm open wider, making room for Victor inside of himself.

Yuuri pressed his face against the back of Victor’s neck and felt his own fingertips along the edges.

His tail twitched against the mattress as Yuuri kicked the blanket up and over them both, and tried to tell himself he didn’t like it.

He failed.

 

* * *

 

When Yuuri woke up the next morning, he was alone.

Victor’s jacket was draped over his body, the worn fleece on the inside was soft against his cheeks. It still smelled like him.

He’d be gone today, Yuuri knew. Probably wouldn’t be waiting tonight when Yuuri got home from class. Probably out fulfilling the terms of the mission that terrified him, searching for the woman who had taught him about family just in time to break his young heart.

But Victor had left his heart here—wrapped Yuuri up in it before he’d gone.

There was a lump in Yuuri’s throat as he sat up, as he put his glasses on, as he clutched at Victor’s jacket and observed the detailed stitching in red and white. He wanted to take it with him, but even his colleagues and students would notice if Yuuri wore a jacket emblazoned with Olympic rings. It would inevitably get back to Minako that way and invite conflict well before Yuuri was ready for it—

—he stilled. Why did it suddenly feel like Yuuri was gearing himself up for war?

He stood in the center of his room for a moment, a paper boat adrift at sea. He brought Victor’s jacket to his chest and pressed his face against it, ears flattening as his thoughts raced. His tail curled around his own leg, a tiny comfort.

Yuuri folded the jacket and placed it under his pillow.

It was harder than it should have been.

And then he sent a text to Phichit.

_ >>i need to meet with you after class today _

And then one to Minako.

_ >>one of my students wants to meet after class, ill probably miss practice. same time tomorrow? _

If Victor was on a fact-finding mission, Yuuri could be, too. He had more questions than he had answers, and that had never sat well with him.

The reply from Phichit came first.

_ <<sure what’s up? you ok? _

_ >>im fine _

Yuuri took a breath.

_ >>i need you to teach me about being a sacrifice. _

 

* * *

 

The day dragged on, and Yuuri’s impatience lended itself to his irritation. By the time classes had ended for the day, he had narrowly avoided snapping at the sophomores. He usually only found their chatter vaguely annoying.

Yuuri was on edge. Phichit had watched him all class long and had seem to come to the same conclusion. He cornered Yuuri when everyone else had filed out; after the initial texts this morning, Yuuri had been essentially dodging him.

But Phichit knew him better than Yuuri would give anyone else credit for, Victor included. Mari and Minako, too.

He pushed his arm through Yuuri’s, an unusually serious expression on his face. The last thing Yuuri wanted now was to be touched, but Phichit—Phichit he would allow. “Let’s go for a walk,” he said simply.

Yuuri had no choice but to oblige.

The days were getting colder, and Yuuri was bursting with energy—maybe because he hadn’t used the usual amount of energy for dancing today, but he couldn’t be sure. Maybe it was the revelations in the back of his head, this strange determination to learn something else, something new. Something he was suddenly sure he needed.

Across campus, past the studio, past the rink; Phichit brought him down toward the beach until they were within view of the water, down underneath the bridge where they were shielded from curious eyes.

Phichit put his hands on his knees and waited. Yuuri’s ears flattened. He huffed out a breath that steamed in the air and looked away.

It wasn’t Phichit he was angry at. He wasn’t sure he was angry at all. Maybe frustrated. Maybe feeling cheated. Maybe alight with something strange and new, but not angry.

“Teach me,” Yuuri said. “Please.”

Phichit rubbed his palms against the fabric of his pants, form-fitting black denim that still managed to look comfortable. Phichit always looked effortless. And Phichit had everything he could ever want. “I don’t know if it’s something I can teach,” he said slowly.

“There wouldn’t be Academies if it couldn’t be taught.” Yuuri’s voice was a little sharper than Phichit deserved. He sighed and lowered his face into his hands. Yuuri’s tail tucked itself close against his body. He hunched down into his sweatshirt and the cover of his own arms and hid. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I—”

There was only the quiet sound of fabric before Yuuri felt an arm around his shoulders; Phichit had sat next to him, his smile small and a little sad. “It’s okay, Yuuri. Just breathe for a minute, okay?”

Yuuri did. It didn’t help. The anxiety was still bubbling deep in his gut, there was still something sharp in his head that didn’t feel quite right.

He _wanted._

“Shh, Yuuri. I’m not saying it can’t be done.” Phichit’s hand on his back felt less like an oppressive weight. More like a balm, the more Yuuri was able to steel himself. “I’ve heard of weirder things than late bloomers. I just don’t know if _I_ know how to explain.” Yuuri looked up. Phichit shrugged once, a sheepish smile on his face. “It’s more about what you feel. And it’s about learning how you fight together.”

“How do you fight?” Yuuri asked. “With words, right? And spells?”

Phichit’s expression turned serious. He looked out at the waves steadily creeping their way up the shore—high tide was coming fast. They would not be stranded where they sat, but the water would inevitably come up to meet them.

Everything was rushing at Yuuri all at once, these days.

Phichit took his hand back. The look on his face was intense but pleased, lost in the edges of a memory. “It’s based in rules,” he said. “And turns. And using your turn as best as you can. And to do that, you have to know what you want, and you have to be looking for openings. Like chess.”

Phichit stood, his shoes making deep marks in the wet sand as he turned to face Yuuri. He put his hands on his hips, his back to the surf. There was a light in his eyes now that Yuuri recognized, when he knew the right answer and _knew_ he was right.

“It _is_ chess,” Phichit said. “And we’re the King. Our Fighters are our Queen. And our spells are pawns.”

Yuuri sat up straight. It was a metaphor he could follow. “How?”

Phichit tapped the corner of his mouth, parsing out the words—Yuuri saw him mouthing things in Thai, eyes rolled skyward as he translated in his head to English, the median between them. “The Queen is the strongest piece on the board, right? But only as strong as the person giving the orders.” Phichit frowned, making sense of another idea. “And when the King gets tipped over, we lose. We take damage for our Fighters until we can’t anymore. When we can’t command them, there’s nothing else to it.”

“And the pawns?” Yuuri frowned.

“Well in chess, you can make gambits. Strategies. We can use spells to attack or defend. You can cause damage or try to erase it. The bonds are real, you know? Physical. But if they’re weak, they can be broken.”

Yuuri shook his head, not understanding. Bonds?

Phichit stepped forward and wrapped his thumb and forefinger loosely around Yuuri’s wrist. His eyes were sharp. “Pull away,” he said.

With one quick tug, Yuuri’s wrist pulled free. He frowned contemplatively at Phichit.

And then Phichit grabbed him again. His hand around Yuuri’s wrist was tight, crushing the bones, pinching the skin. Yuuri hissed, ears turning outward and flattening, the hair raising along his tail in pained surprise.

“Pull away.”

Yuuri bared his teeth. There was an edge to Phichit he’d never known before. An edge that wasn’t quite a threat, but—

Yuuri wrenched his arm back, but Phichit held fast. There was a glimmer of something there that looked strangely like satisfaction.

He let Yuuri go.

Yuuri rubbed at his wrist, turning a demanding glance up at his friend. Phichit’s expression smoothed, and he set that same hand between Yuuri’s ears. It was a near thing to not shake him off.

“Experienced Fighters make stronger bonds,” Phichit said with a slight smile, and flicked at the fuzzy cone of Yuuri’s ear. It twitched. “Stronger bonds are harder to break. If you take too long trying to reverse damage, you’ll get beaten before you break one chain. So you have to be good.”

Yuuri swatted his hand away, but his irritation was tempered by his curiosity. “Good at what?”

Phichit’s smile was one part apologetic, one part wry as he offered Yuuri his hand. When Yuuri accepted, Phichit pulled him to his feet. “Enduring pain. If you show it too much, your Fighter gets worried. They don’t focus like they should, and then you _both_ lose.”

The image raised unbidden of when Yuuri was young, of Minako fussily touching Mari’s back, her shoulders, with a pinched look on her face. Of Mari huffing laughter and shooing her away. The bruises had been unseen back then, but Minako had known. Mari had known. And Yuuri hadn’t, but he had seen the signs.

He wondered what it would be like in the midst of it all, to hold himself strong for someone else’s benefit. It seemed like the best reason to endure pain that he could think of.

Yuuri shook his head slightly. One thing still didn’t make sense. “But why do you do it? Why do you fight at all?”

Phichit nudged at him, and together they started walking along the shore, side-by-side. “I don’t know how it started. None of us do anymore. A bunch of data got stolen, and maybe the answer is there, but no one has it. So we just keep training because it’s better than not knowing, I guess.” Phichit shot Yuuri a sidelong smile. “That’s okay, though. Sparring can be fun, and serious battles don’t come up that much. A little pain is worth having Seung-gil all the time.”

Yuuri shoved his hands in his pockets and said nothing at all.

_But no one has it._

The silence lasted a while, amicable with their history. Yuuri processed all that he’d been told, slowly mulling it over as they wandered further and further from town. Phichit seemed content to meander, idly toeing over stones in the wet sand, and didn’t spare a complaint for the state of his shoes.

Yuuri appreciated it, even though Phichit’s quiet spoke for itself. He was waiting for an explanation to all this. One that Yuuri would have to give him when he was ready.

Perhaps sooner rather than later.

“I think I’m like you,” Yuuri admitted finally, to the gulls and the clouds and the autumn wind. He closed his eyes against the years of denial, against the pain of searching for a name that had never appeared.

There was only a feeling.

He could only trust that feeling and hope it wasn’t wrong.

“I think so too,” Phichit agreed simply enough.

Yuuri turned to him.

Phichit looked him over, contemplative and pitying, and nodded in understanding. “You know who you want, don’t you?”

Longing crept up Yuuri’s throat until it choked him. He turned aside and closed his eyes, sucking in a lungful of salt air and ocean scent.

He swallowed it all down.

“Yeah,” he whispered as his ears flattened, and the sound of his voice was lost to the breeze. “I know who.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [rebloggable chapter post.](http://maydei.tumblr.com/post/167087916877/title-fated-pairing-victuuri-victor) :3c


	7. Sleepless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri struggles with Victor's absence, and goes to Minako and Mari in the hopes of learning more about Lilia Baranovskaya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Little shorter chapter today to ramp up for a much more substantial one next week. A necessary evil I'm afraid, since the next sections couldn't be broken up. But hopefully this will get you all hype for what is yet to come.
> 
> Thank you so much for your continued support! It really means so much to me. I'm still dying from jet lag, and to boot I've moved into the busiest season at work for our biggest sale of the year, so I have a lot of work to keep me busy. I'm trying to write and respond as much as I can, but I know I've fallen behind on comments. Please know if you have any pressing questions you can always reach me on [my tumblr](http://maydei.tumblr.com/ask) to ask me whatever your heart desires. 
> 
> Beta work was done, as always, by [Rae](http://extranikiforov.tumblr.com) who forces me to keep my life together. Thank u bb. <3
> 
>  

 

 

Yuuri worked late that night in the kitchen with his mother, tending to their guests, prepping for the next day.

Victor and Yuri were nowhere to be found.

Bitterness made itself at home in Yuuri’s chest as he settled into bed that night, wrapped in Victor’s jacket and bundled under any blanket he could find. His tail wrapped around his thigh and his arms around his chest, but no matter what Yuuri did, he felt cold.

This was the future, wasn’t it? No matter what Yuuri wanted, this was what he would get.

There was no forcing a name to appear. It simply was or it wasn’t.

Yuuri’s heart squeezed painfully as he squinted at the back of his hand in the dark, unmarred. Unmarked. Nameless as he’d ever been.

 _I’m here,_ his mind whispered, just as it had the very first time. But this was the first time he’d ever tried to direct it. _I’m here, I’m here. Come find me. I’m here._

He waited as long as he could, until his eyelids sank like stones and he was drowned in a fitful sleep.

Victor did not answer his call.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri stumbled through his Friday classes feeling defeated and exhausted and alone. Victor had not come back that night, and Yuuri’d barely slept at all.

It was no surprise when Phichit came to sit with him during their free period for lunch, though Seung-gil’s company was unexpected. Neither he nor Yuuri had much to say, though there was something affectionate in the way he watched Phichit, in the way the corner of his mouth twitched when Phichit gestured wildly with his hands. He offered Phichit the last few sips of his juice. When Phichit complained about the chill in the air, Yuuri caught Seung-gil tucking his gloves into Phichit’s pocket a few minutes later.

Yuuri didn’t know how he’d never noticed. But he decided it didn’t matter on the merit of Seung-gil’s affection for Phichit alone.

When Phichit excused himself to the restroom and left Yuuri and Seung-gil to their own company, Yuuri found himself pinned down with a stare that was searching but not quite cold.

Yuuri’s ears twitched. Seung-gil huffed out a sigh through his nose.

“If it’s any consolation,” he said, “I don’t think the little blonde kid is very interested in Nikiforov.”

Yuuri’s ears perked. Seung-gil immediately had his attention. “What makes you say that?”  He hadn’t even known that Yuri had met Seung-gil. _Had_ he met Seung-gil?

He shrugged. “The day you were with Nikiforov in the park, I saw the kid with Altin at the bridge.”

Yuuri blinked slowly. _Altin,_ why was that familiar—

 _Otabek_ Altin.

“You know Otabek?” Yuuri asked. It didn’t mean anything. Yuri had just wanted to make friends. By Victor’s own admission, he had left Yuri alone to fend for himself. It wasn’t uncommon for kids his age to look for company.

“We spar.” Seung-gil leveled Yuuri with a steady look. “You know.”

 _Oh._ Otabek was _named?_

Well. That—

—still didn’t mean anything. Necessarily.

Yuuri’s tail twitched.

“And just so you know,” Seung-gil said as he inspected his fingernails, “Otabek isn’t the type to share his earphones with just anyone. He’s picky about his friends.”  Seung-gil rolled his shoulders and shot Yuuri a contemplative look. “He’s not the type to meet up with someone he just met to hang out on the beach after dark, or give his leather jacket to someone he doesn’t trust.”

Yuuri stared.

“Just so you know.” Seung-gil looked up as Phichit returned, sharing a rare smile and holding out his hand. Phichit took it gladly, his other hand settling atop Seung-gil’s head, ruffling his hair where his ears would have been. He grimaced at Phichit, but Yuuri could tell it was a gesture for show and he was truly pleased.

“Are you gossiping about people again?” Phichit asked in a way that was long-suffering and conspiratorial. Fond. Knowing.

Seung-gil snorted softly. “I don’t do that.”

Phichit met Yuuri’s gaze over the top of his head and rolled his eyes. Yuuri bit back a grin, despite the uncertainty still swirling in his belly.

It didn’t change anything, not really; Victor still hadn’t come home.

But a little bit of hope was stronger than nothing at all.

_We came here for Lilia and the matching data. And when we have that, we’ll have our answers._

But answers could go both ways, couldn’t they?

Yuuri sat up straight and dug in his pocket for his phone. Phichit blinked when Yuuri abruptly stood, pushing back from the table. “Sorry,” Yuuri said. “I have to get to class. I’ll catch you tomorrow, okay? Don’t forget your homework.”

Phichit waved him off with a smile, and Yuuri retreated.

He typed out a message to Minako.

> _ >>is the offer for dinner still available? i have some more questions. _

He didn’t have long to wait.

> _ <<Always, Yuuri. We’ll see you tonight. _

 

* * *

 

Minako had pushed him twice as hard for skipping practice the day before. He wasn’t sure which would come first—whether she would call an end to their session, or if Yuuri would break down and ask for a respite.

Minako folded first.

As Yuuri lingered in the shower and changed into informal but clean sweatpants, he swore to himself he would not skip out on practice again.

But Minako seemed to bear him no ill will for it; her smile was genuine as it ever was as she collected her bag and locked up the studio. She and Yuuri were the last ones out, as they always were. It was no secret that Yuuri got preferential treatment, not only for being Mari’s younger brother, but for being Minako’s most dedicated apprentice.

“So what’s on your mind?” She asked as they started for the stairs. Yuuri’s legs ached even as they climbed the single remaining story upward, to the modest but comfortable apartment that Minako and Mari shared.

He didn’t know where to start. Only that he had to, because he needed answers.

Yuuri was starting to get the sense that no one would be able to give them to him, and he may just have to go searching himself.

Minako opened the door to let Yuuri in first, and no sooner had she closed the door behind them and Mari had poked her head into the living room in greeting, Yuuri said, “I don’t want to wait for my name anymore. I know I’ll be a Sacrifice. I want to start training now.”

Minako froze.

Mari rounded the corner and stood before her brother, hands on her hips, expression serious. She shared a glance with Minako over the top of Yuuri’s head.

His ears twitched. He scowled, because he _knew_ they were having some sort of silent communication to which he was not invited, just like always.

And then Mari looked at him. She reached out to straighten Yuuri’s glasses on his nose, and her hand fell heavily onto his shoulder. She smiled. “Finally.”

“You aren’t even a little concerned about this turn of events?” Minako asked Mari, disapproval heavy in her voice.

“We always knew he’d be like me. _You’re_ the one who wanted to tell him all along,” Mari replied, her eyes sliding from Yuuri to her bonded, her eyes brown and sharp and fond. She glanced at Yuuri and ruffled his hair, and Yuuri grumbled and smacked her away without any force. She laughed. “I don’t know how you finally found out, but I can’t say I’m not relieved.”

Yuuri swallowed down his guilt and put on a blank face. “You picked a fight in Yuuko’s rink then left me to my own devices in a town full of people like you. Like I wouldn’t find out about Phichit and Seung-gil.”

Mari rolled her eyes back to Minako again. “I _told_ you he’d find out from _Boundless._ I _told_ you.”

 _“We_ should have told him years ago, no matter what the rules said.” Minako brushed by Mari with a droll expression, headed for the kitchen in such a way that gave Yuuri the impression they’d argued about this many times. Mari trailed after her, leaving Yuuri to his own devices to shrug off his backpack and out of his sweatshirt, leaving both in a pile by the door as he toed out of his shoes.

It had been a while since he’d last spent time with the two of them alone—a few months perhaps, well before the fight at the rink. Yuuri had always felt a distance between himself and Mari that had grown from the difference in their lives. He could never imagine himself in that same situation, never understand her motivation… until now.

It was with new eyes that he watched Mari and Minako stand hip to hip, a distant sense of fondness at the small touches as they went about making their meal in the kitchen that was so much smaller than home. The contented way they needled each other, familiar and comfortable. No venom in their traded barbs, no real conviction in their bickering.

It was in the way that Mari leaned her head on Minako’s shoulder and her arms coiled around Minako’s waist, elegant from dance and hard-earned as the scars on Mari’s hands. There was love there—love that Yuuri had always known but never quite understood.

He tried not to be envious of the way they touched each other freely. It was a right they’d both fought for and earned, though it was a right they were born with.

Yuuri had no right to anything. He glanced at the back of his hand, as naked as it had ever been, and tried not to look too stung as he tucked it into his pocket and out of his sight.

There were only two burners on the cooktop, and thus barely any room for both Mari and Minako to tend to it. They wound in and out and around each other, Mari slowly stirring a simmering pot of miso soup, Minako seasoning and oiling mackerel steaks and setting them close together so they all fit in the grill drawer.

Yuuri was not one to sit idly by, and made himself busy cutting a head of lettuce into shreds and thinly shaving cucumbers with the sharp edge of his knife. He cut a collection of tomatoes into slices, picked from the pot Minako kept just outside her door; the corn he sheared off the cob was from the market, but no less sweet. He finished the salad dressing in a separate bowl, mixing soy sauce, rice wine vinegar, and sesame oil until the consistency was right and the scent was fragrant and familiar. He set it on the table for each of them to use at their own discretion, then returned for the salad.

By the time he was done, Mari was ladling the soup into shallow dishes and the fish had been removed from the oven. With Mari and Yuuri’s history of working in their parents’ kitchen, little conversation was ever needed and better suited to the time during and after the meal. They set the pans aside to soak in the sink and set up for dinner.

There was something more personal about eating here, about cooking for three in a kitchen barely large enough to fit them all. Though the onsen’s kitchen left nothing to be desired in terms of machinery, it was… quaint to use something different. Comfortable. Yuuri almost liked the idea of getting an apartment like this someday, close enough to campus to get to class quickly. Perhaps someday getting a dog. And if he was lucky enough, someone to share his time with—

—he shook himself.

And then shook his head again.

 _Someone_ didn’t have to always mean Victor. It was okay to _want,_ no matter who he came to love and _when._

(He knew who he wanted, though. Yuuri desperately tried to keep the tells off his face and his ears as he sipped at his soup and endured Mari’s searching questions about classes.)

After a time,  the mundane faded away. The bowls sat empty and Mari leaned forward, chin balanced on her interlaced fingers. Minako cast a scornful glance at her elbows on the table (a habit their mother had never quite managed to break Mari of, and it seemed Minako had lost that particular battle as well).

“So what do you know?” Mari asked.

Yuuri convinced himself not to seem too invested. His ears twitched, and he stared studiously at the crow’s feet wrinkles at the corner of Mari’s eyes, not quite meeting her gaze. She was starting to get older—showing the signs of her age in her hands that no longer looked as young, eyes that looked a little more tired nowadays.

Yuuri was sure it was only a matter of time until Minako roped Mari into a shared skincare routine. They’d both be looking better at 60 and 78 than Yuuri expected to look at 54.

Yuuri frowned at those tiny wrinkles with the strange realization that Mari was older than Victor. It was nothing they’d ever talked about, of course, but—

Yuuri glanced down at the tabletop and flushed. Even now, all these years later, he still remembered reading Victor’s birthday in a magazine. He still remembers how much he’d wanted to be like him.

He wasn’t so sure that he wanted to be _just_ like Victor anymore.

Being like Victor wouldn’t mean anything. Victor was the only Victor the world needed. But that didn’t mean that Yuuri couldn’t be useful in his own way. And it didn’t mean he couldn’t just _want_ Victor outright.

“Everything,” Yuuri admitted. “About Fighters and Sacrifices and bonds between named pairs. About spells and the words you use. And I…” Yuuri went quiet, the weight of his knowledge heavy on his shoulders and his conscience. He had new context for the sharpness in the air, for the white flash behind his eyes when his emotions ran high. And he still couldn’t be sure he believed, but…

...Mari just had to believe that he _did._

“I can feel it,” he said simply. Yuuri adjusted his glasses and resolutely stared at the tabletop, his child-ears folding down under the weight of her scrutiny. “And I want to know how I can use it. And I think I’m done feeling sorry for myself. I’m going to be better, I just need to know _how._ ”

Mari and Minako sat in silence. Yuuri glanced up to them sharing a level look that spoke volumes—just not to him. Mari turned her sympathetic eyes on him, and Yuuri felt his hackles raise with her pity.

“It’s because of Victor, isn’t it?” She asked.

Yuuri’s hands clenched. He revealed nothing otherwise, but his traitorous tail thumped against the leg of his chair.

Mari did not look half as angry as she should—and if she didn’t, Yuuri could only figure it was because she didn’t _know._

And indeed, Mari’s voice was thick with resentment as she ducked her head. Even now, Yuuri could practically see the ghost of her twitching ears, long since gone. “I wish we’d gotten to him before he got to you, Yuuri. I’m not upset that you know, but you deserved better than that. To be attacked where you felt safe.”

Yuuri went very still. _Attacked where I felt—_

His knuckles went white. Mari took it for trauma. Yuuri boiled beneath the surface at the implication that Victor would ever deliberately seek to hurt him.

_It’s not true._

They didn’t know Victor. Yuuri bit his tongue.

“I don’t want you to ever feel that again, Yuuri,” Mari said softly, and it was only the raw sentiment and her familial love for him that held Yuuri in check. He glanced up and the anger bubbled away. He hated the idea that she misjudged Victor so badly, but it wasn’t out of malice. Mari loved her family. She reached across the table to lay her fingers over the back of Yuuri’s. Now the unmarked skin just felt… ironic, in a way. It was Yuuri’s own pain that was saving him from unnecessary questions.

“We’ll train you,” Mari assured him, and Yuuri came back to himself. “We’ll take you to an expert. Someone who taught me everything.” Her expression was open, comforting, and Yuuri accepted it.

This was Mari. She meant him no harm.

And Yuuri was getting exactly what he wanted.

Yuuri’s tail swished low. The thought comforted him. His hopeful look was not entirely for show. “Really?”

She nodded firmly in reply. “It’ll take a few days for us to set things up, but you should learn from the best. We’ve always known you had a strong mind. Strong minds need strong teachers. You know that best.” She grinned, as friendly as it was teasing, and something settled in Yuuri’s chest at that.

“Lilia Baranovskaya, right?” Yuuri asked. Minako and Mari turned their eyes on him. Yuuri’s sheepish smile was forced; he hoped it hid the wolf in his heart that thirsted for information. And he lied, “I threatened to dock Phichit’s grade if he didn’t tell me everything.”

Mari sighed, long-suffering. Minako covered her face with her hand.

“He shouldn’t have told you anything,” Minako said. “He knows better.”

“He knows _me_ ,” Yuuri countered. His ears perked forward. “I’ve just heard she’s strong. And…” He ducked his head slightly. “You’re both strong. I don’t want to let anyone down. I want to do my best.”

“I know that. You always have.” Minako frowned at Yuuri, though not unkindly. Concerned, maybe. “Lilia is a much more strict teacher than I am. You’ll have to be ready.”

Yuuri spread both his hands out on the table, palm-down. His tail wavered behind him, and as he looked down his glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose. He had too many questions to ask, and the only honest answers could come from the source. Lilia was it. He had to find her before Victor did, and before Mari knew what he was up to.

He’d never felt so dishonest or so determined.

“I will be,” Yuuri replied quietly.

When he finally looked up, Minako seemed accepting. Mari looked pleased. She stood from her chair and reached across the table to straighten Yuuri’s glasses and ruffle his hair, then just as quickly went about collecting the dishes. “I think she’s gonna love him,” she said as she wandered into the kitchen.

But Minako—Minako had known Yuuri since he was a child. Her eyes on him were steady, searching. It occurred to Yuuri then that, of all the people he knew in their kind of life, Minako would have known Lilia the longest. She would know her the best, and she would be the most protective.

Minako sat up straight. Yuuri’s ears turned outward under the pressure of her gaze.

“Yuuri,” she said quietly, as so Mari wouldn’t hear, “You’ve spent your whole life wanting something normal. Are you sure—?”

Yuuri cut her off. “I’m sure.”

Her eyes narrowed.

And then Yuuri swallowed down the most bitter words he’d ever tasted and twisted his lips into a smile. “You were right. The other night, you were right.” Yuuri pulled his hands down into his lap and sat up straight. He bit the inside of his cheek to center himself against the tremble in his fingers and the roll of nausea in his gut. “I need to let go of childhood heroes. There’s someone out there who will be the right one for me, and I want to find them. And the longer I fight this part of me, the longer I’ll be alone.”

He raised his shaking fingers and brushed them against the shell of one fuzzy ear, the sensation sparking down his spine as he rolled the soft cartilage between his fingers. Yuuri shivered and turned a half-hearted smile on Minako. This time, he didn’t have to hide the bittersweet tinge. She knew this side of him well, and he saw no reason to hide it.

“I want to move past this. Past these.” He swallowed, and felt the heat rise to his cheeks. His tail twitched. “I want to trust someone that much.”

Minako held his eyes a moment more, searching—and then she sighed. Shook her head as she lowered it, and her hair fell into her face. When she looked up again she was smiling, and reached across the table to squeeze Yuuri’s hand. “Sometimes I forget you’re not a kid anymore.”

Yuuri laughed. “Yeah, me too.”

The tension broke.

As they cleaned up the meal, Yuuri’s insides churned. His heart was beating a thousand miles a minute from its place suspended low in his gut, adrenaline-fuelled dread mixed with the rush of a successful lie. But was a lie really a lie if he wasn’t telling the whole truth? If he didn’t intend to hurt anyone, were his intentions still dishonest?

He’d never lied to them before, and he’d never had to. Yuuri was loyal to Mari and Minako, and had never known anything else. He never wanted to hurt them. He would never go out of his way to betray them, never deliberately side against them.

But siding against them and being on his own side were two completely different things.

Minako was right about one thing, Yuuri realized later, even if her intuition was skewed by the memory of the Yuuri she’d always known. The walk home was dark, lit only by the evenly spaced streetlamps as he crossed the rushing water beneath. Once he used to hurry through this corridor, unnerved by the darkness. Now such little fears seemed small when the knowledge of greater powers in the universe loomed over his head.

Things had changed, and the only path before Yuuri now was one of his making.

He _wasn’t_ a kid anymore.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [rebloggable chapter post](http://maydei.tumblr.com/post/167344218587/title-fated-pairing-victuuri-victor)


	8. Dreamless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor returns. More conversations are had in the dark, and in the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to everyone who has commented so far, and to [Rae](http://extranikiforov.tumblr.com) for her amazing beta work and keeping me on my feet throughout this horribly stressful and busy time at work. My dreams of finishing Fated for NaNo have been dashed, but hopefully I'll be able to write more new content over the holiday and even more once Black Friday weekend is over and done with. Prayer circle for me. Don't worry, the weekly updates are still safe. I have a few more backlogged chapters to go. 

 

 

Yuuri wasn’t sure whether he was surprised or not that Victor still hadn’t returned. He deliberated for a while, then settled specifically on _unsurprised_.

Victor was here for Lilia, not for him.

Maybe Yuuri was bitter, but that also suited him fine. The ache in his chest was dulled by hard work, so Yuuri made himself busy attending to patrons and helping his parents with chores. It was late by the time he finished, well after ten, but he had no obligations to his class the following day and he figured he could get away with it.

If he slept like the dead, maybe he’d forget he was alone.

That said, Yuuri wasn’t ready to sleep quite yet. He did have obligations to his course readings and the papers of his students, and midnight came and went without him realizing. It was closer to one by the time his eyes began to blur, even though his glasses were still firmly situated on his face. Yuuri took them off and rubbed his temples and the bridge of his nose, the indents the plastic pieces had left behind.

The house was still silent around him. With a sigh of resignation and not a small amount of worry, Yuuri stepped out of his day clothing and into a large, soft shirt. He turned off the light and crawled into bed, bare legs against the cool sheets, shirt rucked up over the waistband of his boxer briefs. Yuuri huffed and rearranged himself until the shirt was smooth to lay on, the hem loose around his thighs, and bundled under the covers.

It was a cold night; he could feel the chill radiating from his nearby window and the pattering of the autumn rain outside, and Yuuri’s tail twitched underneath the heavy weight of the comforters. His heart twinged, and Yuuri pulled Victor’s jacket from under his pillow and wrapped his arms around it despondently. That empty feeling tugged behind his ribs again, and when Yuuri closed his eyes, a rush of color lingered and tapered off in a flash of white—pulses of light that corresponded with his heartbeat, slow and steady in the dark.

Where was Victor now? How long had it been since he’d slept? Were he and Yuri okay? God, Yuuri would gladly take them both back and the awkwardness of uncertainty if he just knew they were safe and well-fed, cared for.

But they were coming back. They had to be. In Yuri’s spare room downstairs, there were still a few screen-printed tee shirts and his laptop with the Cyrillic keyboard left open but offline, waiting for its user’s return. Victor wouldn’t have left his jacket behind if he didn’t plan to return.

Yuuri pushed his face into the age-worn fabric, catching the last hints of the scent of shampoo, of unfamiliar laundry soap. He clutched it to his chest and curled around it, ears folded forward with his single-minded focus. Victor felt a little closer like this, even though it was just his jacket under the blankets next to Yuuri, just the warmth of the fleece lining against Yuuri’s hands and face.

It was lonely.

 _He_ was lonely.

And his single mattress felt infinitely more empty without someone else beside him.

So with cold in his chest and the jacket in his arms, Yuuri reached out one more time. _I miss you._

Just barely within sleep’s clutches, Yuuri drifted. On the edge of wakefulness and dreamless oblivion, he stretched and dozed, and this time when the flash echoed behind his eyes it felt…

 

 

He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but Yuuri awoke suddenly and all at once, the room still pitch black around him. His hair stood on end as he was jostled, and Yuuri suddenly realized he was not alone.

Victor was curled at the foot of his bed, head pillowed on Yuuri’s calf over the top of the blankets. His feet stuck off the end of the bed, bare legs sharp and bright in the dark, and Yuuri felt his breath leave him.

He sat up abruptly and Victor flinched away, an automatic response without even looking up, and then he was on the floor, and Yuuri was staring at him and Victor stared back and—

 _“Yuuri,”_ he breathed.

Yuuri’s eyesight was poor and even worse in the dark, but even he could tell that Victor looked a fright. He was shaking slightly, his hair was stringy around his shoulders. His voice was raw, more than a little exhausted.

Yuuri couldn’t find an angry bone in his body. “Come here,” he said.

Victor stared at him, mouth opened, ass on the floor, and Yuuri couldn’t figure out what that expression meant if he couldn’t properly _see_ it.

“Victor,” he insisted, and reached out his hand. _“Here.”_

Victor didn’t hesitate a second time. Pulled by the weight of Yuuri’s voice, he crawled into the bed and next to Yuuri properly, shivering out a sigh at the warmth of Yuuri’s body and the furnace of sleep-heat under the blankets. Oh, he was _frozen—_ Yuuri’s hands fisted in Victor’s shirt, slightly-damp, and pulled him closer, though not yet as much as he’d like.

 _“Off,”_ Yuuri commanded as he plucked at the fabric. “You’re wet and cold.”

Victor’s swallow was audible in the dark, but he sat up and pulled the covers with him as he pulled his long-sleeved shirt over his head. It could have been any color and in the dim light Yuuri wouldn’t have been able to tell, but he could make out the glow of Victor’s skin lit through the thin curtains—the spattering of freckles across his shoulders as he tossed the shirt away and returned to Yuuri’s waiting arms.

And Yuuri stopped him yet again, reaching into the darkness for one single thing. His hands found the bundle somewhere up around his head, still skin-warm as he pushed it into Victor’s hands.

Victor looked down at the jacket, then up at Yuuri again. The expression he wore in the dark was unreadable—until it cracked, along with Victor’s voice. _“Yuuri.”_

Laden with meaning, fraught with significance, Victor obligingly pulled on the jacket despite it being just a little too small. He returned all at once, the zipper still hanging open, his wrists and hands exposed by the barest shortness of the sleeves. He lay down facing Yuuri, trembling in the dark, still a hand’s breadth away, and that was much too far indeed.

Hadn’t he known that Yuuri missed him? Hadn’t he known that Yuuri had waited for him? With only the raw sensation of the past few days’ misery, Yuuri’s hands found Victor’s waist under the fleece lining and tugged him closer.

It only took Yuuri’s insistence for Victor to stop denying himself. He pressed himself against Yuuri’s body _hard,_ both of them tangled together on their sides as Victor shuffled down and tucked his head under Yuuri’s chin. Yuuri found that, oh yes, he _was_ wet and clammy and cold to the touch, shivering as Yuuri wrapped his arms around him and his hands spread wide over Victor’s waist.

Yuuri rubbed over Victor’s back under the tight confines of the Olympic sweatshirt, up and down until his skin began to warm. Victor’s shaky exhalations puffed against Yuuri’s chest, and they both became lost in the simple, base instinct as Victor nosed closer, nuzzled under Yuuri’s chin and wound their legs together.

The zipper pressed into Yuuri’s chest, but he couldn’t have cared less. He cared more for the touch of Victor’s skin against his, the thundering of Victor’s heart where it was pressed to Yuuri’s ribs. He _cared_ and shivered and whimpered when Victor’s cold hands found their way up the back of Yuuri’s oversized shirt and wrapped around him. He cared when Victor inhaled deeply and blustered out a sigh that was a little too shaky for Yuuri’s liking considering his sad state.

Yuuri freed one hand to push it through the damp strands at Victor’s temple, which stuck to both of their skin. His fingers caught in a tangle and picked it apart before Victor could hiss in displeasure or pain; until his hands dragged through, heavy and weighted under the dampness of the water, rather than the silky slide it would have been if Victor was warm and dry and had been here for Yuuri to look after all along.

His fingers scritched gently against Victor’s scalp, and Victor’s mumbled satisfaction was a balm to the pain Yuuri had borne for the last two days by himself. It was behind him now—Victor was safe. Victor was _here._

Yuuri’s ears fluttered with the flicker of his emotions, his tail twitching under the covers. Victor huffed out a laugh as it brushed his thigh, and tucked his face more securely into Yuuri’s throat. His long, slow hum was contented, muscles relaxing under Yuuri’s hands until he was languid and sweet and melting into the heat of Yuuri’s body.

Yuuri bent his head to press his face against Victor’s hair. He had so many questions, so many things that they should discuss, but all of them could wait. The only thing that mattered was the only thing on Yuuri’s mind. “Are you okay?” he murmured.

Victor sighed, heavy and tired. His lips brushed against Yuuri’s skin as he replied softly, “I am right now.”

Yuuri’s thumb stroked Victor’s temple, absent and gentle as he traced Victor’s hairline over and again. They unwound from tension as they wound around each other, two bodies tied in knots that neither felt fit to unravel. Yuuri’s mind brushed over the thought of red thread. One way or another, there was nothing but red between them.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Victor admitted, his eyelashes fluttering against Yuuri’s throat. “Without you.”

Yuuri couldn’t breathe. His heart was a wash of pain at Victor’s pain, an echo chamber looping back around—but joy. Bitter, relieved joy. Victor was real in his arms, present at last, feeling all the same things Yuuri felt. It was nice to know he wasn’t entirely alone.

Maybe it was that impulsivity that pushed him to kiss the crown of Victor’s head, to nose at his hair and slip his hand into it, cradling the back of his head in a gesture that was too intimate to be acceptable. But what could he do?

“Me too,” Yuuri whispered.

Victor huffed out a sigh that sounded like a laugh, short and disbelieving and elated and terrified as Yuuri felt. His lips dragged up Yuuri’s carotid, emboldened by the physical honesty of Yuuri’s body against him. He replied to the thundering pulse by letting it beat against his mouth, close enough to taste.

Yuuri shivered, and when his hand involuntarily tightened in Victor’s hair, he tried his best to be gentle about it. Victor’s bitten-off moan was a shock straight to his system.

“Yuuri,” Victor whispered. Tortured. Longing. His hands spread wide and sensual over Yuuri’s back, dragging twin lines of fire down to Yuuri’s waist.

Yuuri squeezed his eyes closed, ears perked forward and trembling. “I know.” He swallowed, and his mouth was painfully dry. “I know. I feel it too.”

He softened his grip on Victor’s hair; Victor leaned into the warmth of Yuuri’s palm as it uncurled. He pushed no further, but held steady as he could manage, shaking and uncertain, conflicted, and Yuuri was too.

“What are we going to do?”

It was not a question of now, it was a question of later—but the pain it pulled from Yuuri’s heart was instant and consuming.

Things were easier in the dark. Touching Victor was simple when Yuuri didn’t have to think about his actions. Comforting him now was second-nature, instantaneous. But come morning, things would be different. He’d have to see Yuri, look into Victor’s face and see him stare back, and right now Yuuri just—

He had to stop. For now. Until he could think about things properly and see them through.

Yuuri swallowed and pet his fingers through Victor’s hair. He breathed deeply of the scent of rain that clung to Victor even now and told himself that everything could wait until morning. “Right now, we sleep,” Yuuri answered gently. “And we can figure out the rest later. Okay?”

Victor’s hands tightened around the base of Yuuri’s ribcage. Yuuri hoped they left bruises.

 _“Trust me,”_ he murmured. “You said you do, right?”

Victor kissed the underside of Yuuri’s jaw. The sweetness of it was answer enough.

But Yuuri couldn’t fault him for his worry. The idea of letting this go when he’d only just found it was… incomprehensible. The thought of losing Victor left a pit in his stomach, an ache in his chest.

_You should only get into what you can live with._

Yuuri never wanted to live _without_ this. Was it too much to consider dropping his life to move across the world for a man he’d barely met?

He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. But if Victor had to leave, the idea was sounding more and more appealing by the minute. Yuuri could never say as much out loud—it wasn’t his place, and there were other forces at work, Victor’s bond with Yuri for one.

But if he _could—_

Victor wiggled his arm out from under Yuuri’s body, and his hand splayed over the soft fabric of Yuuri’s shirt. Tucked safely between their chests, Victor laid his hand carefully over Yuuri’s heart. "Ты громко думаешь, любимый."

The words were unfamiliar, but the tone Victor said them in was fond.

“Hmm?”

Yuuri didn’t expect an answer, and he didn’t get one. Victor rubbed up and over Yuuri’s shoulder instead, arm snaking underneath his head. Yuuri’s ear twitched as it rested against Victor’s arm, but the defensive rush he’d felt when Victor had touched his ears in the past was now all but gone.

Victor nosed at him, his body gone languid in Yuuri’s embrace. “I trust you, Yuuri. Trust me, too.”

Victor’s hair was still wet. He was still cold, though his body was now warming. He spoke frankly, too honest for his own good. He was bright and passionate and gentle—but by the word of others, he was dangerous. He was far from the kind of person that Yuuri should find himself involved with.

And yet Yuuri said, “I already do.”

Victor exhaled gently. He shuffled in Yuuri’s arms until his face was nestled in the curve of Yuuri’s neck. “я хочу быть твоим.”

Yuuri didn’t ask this time, but it didn’t matter. He was pretty sure he already knew. He held Victor close like it was something he could have, someone he could keep.

Victor bent his outstretched arm at the elbow, his hand reaching back toward himself to settle between Yuuri’s ears. He trailed his finger along the warm curve of it where it disappeared into Yuuri’s hair; Yuuri stuttered and shivered, off-kilter at the raw wave of _want_ that welled in his gut.

Yuuri licked his lips. He shouldn’t—

“Victor,” Yuuri said, and got an indistinct mumble in reply. “Will you still show me? Tomorrow?”

Victor never stopped in the slow trace of his fingertips, the careful massage around the base of Yuuri’s ears that was steadily turning him to jelly. “I think I’d do anything you asked me.”

Was it right? No. Did Yuuri want it more than anything in the world? _Yes._

“You shouldn’t,” he said, bitten out abruptly and without any planning at all, hoping it wouldn’t tear this fragile moment open and leave it bleeding.

“I know,” Victor replied, sounding entirely at peace as he doomed them both. “And I know you don’t want me to, because you care about Yura. And that’s why I would, Yuuri, and I _want_ to. So yes, I’ll show you.”

Yuuri lay in silence for a time, holding Victor as tightly as he dared, cradling his head in his palm. It took him a few minutes to work up his nerve, and he feared that by the time he said it, Victor would be asleep, but—

“It’s not just Yuri I care about,” Yuuri murmured.

Victor’s breathing remained hushed and even. For a while, Yuuri feared he hadn’t heard him at all, but wasn’t sure whether that was a disappointment or a relief. He wasn’t sure he could say those words out loud again.

And then Victor’s lips fell into the crook of Yuuri’s neck, kissed him there once, twice, three times with aching familiarity and tenderness. It spoke of nights they’d not yet lived, times they’d not yet shared, and maybe never would.

It screamed _desire_ and _want_ and the building blocks of what Yuuri was sure could soon be _love._

“You’re more than I deserve,” Victor said softly and clutched him close, as jealous as he was gentle.

Yuuri ran his hands through Victor’s hair in a slow, smooth chain of sensation. When he caught sight of the unmarked skin of his hand in the dark, he blinked back the burning in his eyes and knew it was more than exhaustion.

“I don’t _care_ what you deserve,” Yuuri whispered vehemently.

The Olympic team jacket was warm where it hugged the trim lines of a body that was just slightly too large for it, and despite that, Yuuri knew that was exactly where it belonged.

And no matter what anyone said, no matter who would try to take them apart, so was Victor.

 

* * *

 

The morning found them lazy, slow and languid like honey, warmed by the sunbeams that filtered through the curtains. Yuuri yawned and arched and hummed as he woke, lashes fluttering as he nuzzled into the warmth against his body. His eyes cracked open to frizzy silver hair against his cheeks, his face buried against the back of Victor’s neck. Yuuri wasn’t sure when Victor had turned in his arms, but they were comfortably pieced together—perfect complements in perfect harmony, yin and yang.

Victor mumbled something incoherent, a sweet little sound as he rolled back against Yuuri in response to being jostled. At the wave of curling arousal, Yuuri realized one very important thing.

He was _definitely_ hard, and Victor was _definitely_ waking up.

Yuuri hitched his hips back, trying to unwind himself from Victor’s body before he could notice, and before Yuuri could die a traumatized death and dig himself into a hole to escape this moment.

“Yuuri?”

 _Oh, god._ Yuuri’s ears folded down, and Victor was reaching one arm behind his neck to find Yuuri and pull him nearer. As he turned over, his hip grazed the half-hard bulge in Yuuri’s boxer-briefs, and Yuuri nearly swallowed his own tongue. He tried to squirm away, but the damage was done—Victor’s eyes were sleepy but curious as he rolled to face Yuuri. He then glanced down like he could see below the blankets that covered them both.

Yuuri turned his face into the pillow and wished he was an early riser and not an _early riser._ “Please don’t say anything,” he groaned.

Victor huffed out a soft laugh, and the next thing Yuuri knew, there was a warm nose against his cheek, and Victor was even closer. “How about _good morning?_ ”

Victor had no right to be cute when Yuuri was trying very hard to feel sorry for himself. “You should let me get up and pretend this didn’t happen.”

That huffy laugh again. One of Victor’s hands slid into his hair and stroked at the base of his ears. Yuuri very nearly moaned. “It’s natural, Yuuri. Don’t be embarrassed. I’m not embarrassed.”

“Something tells me you’re never embarrassed,” Yuuri grumbled into his pillow. He angled his head up into Victor’s touch, anyway.

“Rarely,” Victor agreed, and he sounded amused. His fingertips rubbed tiny circles against where Yuuri’s ears met his scalp. The sensation was lovely, as comforting as it was electric and definitely _not_ helping.

Yuuri’s tail twitched where it was pinned under the weight of the blankets and he shook Victor off. It was harder than it had any right to be and—

He had to think about something else.

So he lifted his face out of the color-blurred mash of the pillowcase, and, _oh._

Victor’s hair was a fuzzy mess, strands pulled every which-way. There were still dark circles under the blue blaze of his eyes, but there was a flush to his cheeks that radiated warmth, radiated _happiness_. He obligingly pulled his hands back and tucked them under his own cheek, content to lay there on his side and watch the slow process of Yuuri coming to his wits.

Why the hell that process seemed so fascinating to Victor was beyond him.

Yuuri pulled back just enough that they were no longer so intimately tangled, but despite the radiant heat of the comforters, he missed Victor’s touch almost immediately. Victor’s pout said much the same, no matter how comfortable he looked, but the sleep-bruises under his eyes clearly said that Victor could easily rest a few more hours.

Yuuri frowned and instinctively reached out to touch one, to brush his finger in the lilac hollow under Victor’s lower lashes. His ears turned outward and in again, distressed by the state of him, though Yuuri knew it was Victor’s own fault. He had overexerted himself, and probably Yuri too… wherever they’d been.

“I should go,” Yuuri said quietly, frowning at Victor’s noise of dissent. “You should get some more rest.”

“I sleep better when you’re here.” He barely gave the words time to settle heavily in Yuuri’s belly before he continued, “But it’s light and I’m awake. There’s no point now. I’ll just sleep well tonight.”

The words slipped from Yuuri’s tongue before he could stop them. “Oh, so you’re gonna be here?”

They were too sharp for such a calm moment, too bitter for Victor’s lingering sweetness. The two met in the middle, in the still and stony calm that came over Victor’s face. “I have no plans to go elsewhere, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Yuuri wanted to kick himself. Yuuri wanted to shake Victor. How could he say that like it hadn’t mattered that he’d been gone?

He didn’t feel very warm and fuzzy anymore. Yuuri took a deep breath as his ears started to fold down and his hackles rose, as his heartbeat echoed in his ears with his own annoyance. He was really starting to wish that _he_ was on the outside edge of the bed, rather than being stuck in the space between Victor and the wall.

But it wasn’t his right to ask where Victor had been. For all that anyone was concerned, Victor could go wherever he wanted whenever he felt like it. He had no reason to consult Yuuri about it—

Victor reached out and cupped Yuuri’s cheek in his palm. He scooted those few inches closer and touched their foreheads together before Yuuri could think to pull away. His eyes were very close, still serious, so blue—but there was no harshness, only sincerity.

“I didn’t mean to be away for that long,” he murmured. “If I’d known, I would have told you.”

Yuuri’s irritable side was being appeased into submission, but most of its claws were rooted in the worry he’d felt. “Next time send a text message,” Yuuri replied as he stared back.

“Give me your phone number and I will.”

Yuuri blinked. Victor’s lips twitched with the smallest of smirks, and he suddenly felt extremely stupid. And guilty. “Oh.”

That breathy laugh was going to be the death of him, and the way Victor’s eyes crinkled would be the nail in his coffin. Yuuri felt the flush that rose in his cheeks spread all the way down his chest. He reached out and lightly slapped Victor on the side.

“Let me up,” Yuuri said, and hoped it sounded like the olive branch it was. “I’ll go get it.”

Victor brightened, his eyes shining like a child’s as he shuffled back and sat upright. He waited expectantly as Yuuri crawled by him and out of the glorious heat of the bed, searching for his phone which charged on his desk, left from the night before. Yuuri’s tail twitched behind him, prickling as he realized that his legs were bare and cold and pebbled with goosebumps, and it was only the soft sleeping shirt and his boxer-briefs that protected him from Victor’s eyes.

Yuuri wasn’t sure he wanted to be protected, but at the moment it was probably necessary for propriety’s sake.

He studiously tried to avoid Victor’s gaze when he held out the phone in one hand, more casual than he felt. Victor took it, then stared at the screen and smiled. “Hmm, Yuuri?”

Yuuri’s ears perked forward, and Victor snickered.

“It’s in Japanese. I can’t read this.”

“Oh!” Yuuri went red. He reached for his glasses, folded and waiting on the desk, and put them on. He quickly clicked into the new contact page and realized that Victor wouldn’t know how to type his own name in Katakana, so Yuuri entered it himself. He handed it back to Victor with the number box highlighted.

Victor smiled, flashes of his long legs bared by the tangle of the blankets as he leaned back. His back hit the mattress with a whoosh of breath, his hair caught in tangles underneath his body as he held the phone above his face.

Yuuri flushed, ears fluttering as he looked away to search for jeans in his dresser. He stepped into them and turned, but rather than Victor fiddling with the phone, he was staring at Yuuri.

There was a word that came to mind, but it still somehow seemed too strange to consider. The openness of the affection written into the lines of Victor’s face—the softness of his eyes, the tilt of his head, the faint curve of his smile—all reminded Yuuri of storybooks and fairytales when someone was described as _besotted._  And as much as he wanted to believe that could be true, it was better not to.

No matter how very close to _besotted_ Yuuri felt, himself.

Yuuri lowered his eyes, though his chest still felt warm. His tail twitched idly behind him. “Don’t look at me like that. Just put your number in.”

“I’m just glad,” Victor said softly, smiling as he turned back to the task at hand. He finished and rolled onto his side, perched at the edge of the bed as he held out the phone to Yuuri.

Yuuri took it back, and Victor’s fingers lingered as they brushed the back of Yuuri’s hand. Yuuri reluctantly pulled away and saved the contact.”Why?”

“Because you care enough to worry.” Victor blinked slowly, that warmth still present in the blue of his eyes. Yuuri was reminded of tired dogs, of lazy cats, of the regard of long-time lovers as they gazed at each other. He didn’t quite feel he deserved that kind of look from Victor.

Still. Yuuri huffed and tried not to sound too sharp, too abrasive when he replied, “If you didn’t disappear I wouldn’t _have_ to worry.”

Victor didn’t seem to take offense to it, though there was a certain glint in his eyes as he sat upright and stretched his arms above his head. “I had a good reason at the time.” He smiled at Yuuri, bright and sweet. “But it doesn’t feel good enough anymore.”

Yuuri wanted to ask. He didn’t. He turned away, conflicted, and returned to his dresser in search of socks. The floors were chilly, after all. “I’ll send you a message so you have my number. Okay? So if you’re gonna go somewhere for a while, just… tell me.”

“Of course.” There was movement behind him, and Yuuri held very still as he heard the mattress creak and felt Victor approaching, his bare feet quiet against the tatami. Part of him wanted to know what Victor would do. The other part of him wanted to pull away before things could get too far.

Curiosity won out in the end, and the reward was worth the worry. Victor looped his arms around Yuuri’s waist from behind, forehead bent to press against his shoulder. Victor was warm, his touch weighty but gentle. He all but hummed with satisfaction. “But I’ll always prefer being here with you.”

Yuuri reached back over his shoulder to scritch at Victor’s scalp, gentle motions of his fingers in concentric circles that made Victor melt. “It’s probably better than being out in the rain.”

Victor nosed at the back of Yuuri’s neck. Yuuri’s tail twitched and _thwapped_ Victor on the thigh. “You know that’s not what I mean, Yuuri.”

Yuuri stood there with his hand in Victor’s hair and thought about the night before, about his sister and her sharp personality, about Yuuri’s commitment to go to places unknown to meet the person who had broken Victor’s heart. He thought about everything he had gotten himself into in Victor’s name, everything he had done since realizing the inevitable tide of feelings that were rising up over the banks of his common sense. He didn’t want Victor to drown with him. “Anything else is dangerous.”

“I’m not afraid,” Victor mumbled into the fabric of Yuuri’s shirt.

Yuuri sighed heavily, and felt Victor rise and fall with the heave of his shoulders. His hand followed the curve of Victor’s skull, down the back of his neck. He repeated the pattern again and bit back a smile when Victor all but purred. “I know you’re not.”

“Are you?”

Yuuri laughed once. “Terrified.”

Victor’s arms squeezed around him. “I’ll protect you.”

Yuuri believed him. He leaned back into Victor’s hold, enjoying the unfamiliar but soothing sensation of being held. He could grow to like this, he thought, and his ears turned outward and lowered, deeply content. Yuuri’s eyes drifted closed for a moment. “I thought Sacrifices protected Fighters, not the other way around.”

Victor didn’t answer immediately, but when he responded, his words were carefully chosen, delicately placed. “Well, if you’re not my Sacrifice, I can protect you as much as I like.”

 _If,_ he said. _If you’re not my Sacrifice._ Yuuri’s heart went wild at the thought.

Victor’s hand crept its way up his chest and laid flat over his beating heart, just… feeling. Touching. “Fast,” he murmured, and his index finger tapped a rhythm that echoed the sensation so Yuuri could feel it, too, and the silver letters glimmered at the edge of his view.

Yuuri would very much like to keep him. Kiss him. Steal Victor away at any cost, because he was sure they could be happy together, even if it wasn’t quite fate. But the universe had brought them together, hadn’t it? Was that not fate in its own way?

Yuuri pulled his hand from Victor’s hair, careful not to snag any tangles. He laid his hand over Victor’s and squeezed.

And then he moved away and sidestepped Victor’s petulant whine of protest. “You should take a bath, you were freezing last night. It would be good to wash your hair, right?”

Yuuri turned with a faint smile, catching sight of Victor’s pout. Yuuri reached out to push an errant strand of his bangs behind his ear. “I’ll make some breakfast. And then we can go walk by the water. I know some places in the bay where no one will see…”  Yuuri took a breath. He swallowed. “Your spells. Or however that works.”

Victor reached for Yuuri’s hand before it could fall, and he held it against his cheek. He still looked exhausted, bare legs and barefooted, his jacket tight across the trim figure of his chest and clinging to his arms. But he watched Yuuri like there was nothing else, no one else, and it was the sweetest intoxication Yuuri had ever known.

“That sounds good. Really good.” Victor turned his mouth against Yuuri’s hand, lips brushing over the pads of his fingers in the ghost of a kiss. “And Yura will sleep all day if we let him, so he won’t miss us. Not that he would, anyway.”

It felt strange that Yuri was still somehow a blockade, a presence that stood between them. Yuuri tried to revel in the sensation of Victor’s touch and ignore the prickle of envy. He knew what they thought of each other. He knew what they would do for things to be different. Even now, Victor spoke of Yuri more like a kid brother than a partner or an equal. Someone he loved, someone he trusted—but someone he would never quite click with.

But Yuuri—

Victor’s eyes glimmered as he smiled against Yuuri’s fingertips. After a moment he let them fall away, and Victor brushed past Yuuri to grab the jeans he’d left hanging over the back of Yuuri’s chair. They were dry now, and aside from the dampness they’d sustained last night, they looked clean. Victor stepped into them and tugged them up over his hips, threading the button through the loop as he toed into the house slippers waiting beside Yuuri’s door.

“I’ll go get ready. Thank you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri blinked slowly. His tail swished slowly behind him. “What are you thanking me for?”

Victor looked up and smiled. “For letting me stay with you.”

“I _want_ you to stay with me.” Yuuri didn’t think about the logistics of that reply until it had escaped him, and he quickly felt his cheeks go hot.

His ears lowered slightly under the weight of his embarrassment, but Victor seemed charmed. His smile softened and widened, and the light reflected in his eyes as they curved into crescents reminded Yuuri of the sunlight on the sea. “Thank you for that, too. You’re good to me, Yuuri. You’ve taken care of Yura and me. So I just want to tell you that I appreciate it, because I do. You’re everything I never expected to find when I was sent here.”

Yuuri swallowed. Victor lingered in the doorway, so Yuuri stepped forward, and took another. He found Victor’s hand in both of his own, his ears flattened with distress. He stared down at where their fingers joined and studiously ignored the brand that laughed at him, the word _Fated_ that felt like a slap. “Don’t say those words like you’re saying goodbye. Please.”

Victor gently squeezed back. His voice when he replied was soft, a melody that Yuuri was slowly learning and hoped to memorize before he left. “I still have a long way to go before that happens. I just want to tell you as much as I can, so you know it never leaves my head. I want you to know that it _matters_ that you care about me being cold, and about the last time I slept. You think about things I don’t think about. That matters to me, Yuuri. So much.”

Yuuri stroked his thumbs over the back of Victor’s knuckles, once and again. He swallowed. “I…” Yuuri trailed off. When he found his voice, his words were soft. “I wish I could do more.”

Victor tugged Yuuri closer by the hands and pressed their foreheads together. “You do enough. You do more than anyone ever has.”

There was only Yuuri’s room as witness; only their sense of loyalty to another keeping them apart. Family, found or otherwise, was everything. And though the reasons were growing more and more compelling by the day, Yuuri could not yet turn his back on his obligations. Victor felt the same. Yuuri knew he did. But the casual truth in Victor’s words made Yuuri’s heart clench. “That’s not a good thing, Victor. That’s sad.”

“Oh?” Victor tipped his chin up in a sweet little gesture until his lips brushed the apple of Yuuri’s cheek. Yuuri shivered. “I think it’s romantic.”

The murmured words against Yuuri’s skin had his ears perking forward, every nerve down his spine and his tail alight with electricity. _Good!_ Yuuri’s body insisted as he itched to surge forward, fall into uncertainty and impulse and _Victor._ All the while, his logical side said _Bad!_ and Yuuri found himself at a stalemate—

—until the moment he twisted his hands in Victor’s and grabbed him carefully by the wrists. Yuuri pulled back reluctantly, his nose skimming Victor’s cheek as he did, and he tried to offer a shaky smile to Victor’s disappointed eyes that he hoped would smooth things over, at least for the morning.

Yuuri took a step to the side and around until he was leading, until he had managed to slip the door to his room sideways with his foot and guided Victor toward the stairs. “Come on,” Yuuri said, and hoped it sounded as placating as possible, and that the longing-terrified drumming behind his ribs wasn’t audible. “Let me make you something to eat.”

Victor pouted at him, his eyes beautifully blue even when he frowned. After a moment, though, he huffed out that breathy laugh. "Он снова это делает." The smile replaced his dissatisfaction with terrible fondness, and Yuuri knew that even if he didn’t understand the meaning, he was starting to know that look. They were both probably a little lost.

And all through breakfast and as they readied to go, as expected, the door to Yuri’s room remained closed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ты громко думаешь, любимый. (You're thinking loudly, my love.)  
> я хочу быть твоим. (I want to be yours)  
> Он снова это делает. (He does it again)
> 
> Thank you to my helpful friend who wished to stay anonymous for the help with the Russian translations. <3  
> \-----
> 
> In the wake of the new "Best Stuff First" update on Tumblr, I would be so so thankful if you guys took the time to [reblog this chapter post on Tumblr](http://maydei.tumblr.com/post/167590745847/title-fated-pairing-victuuri-victor) so others see it. I've kept it short and sweet and even included the banner! It's so hard to even reach my regular readers with this stupid new feature. Hopefully Tumblr rolls it back soon with all the complaints going about!! Thank you so much.


	9. Limitless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor shows Yuuri what he is capable of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving everyone! I realized I'm going to be extremely busy with work tomorrow (and that any of you who work retail will be insanely busy this weekend as well) so I decided to post this a little bit early. I am so so thankful for you guys and your continued support and enthusiasm for this story. You've really made it so much fun to write and share with you. With that in mind, I think... this is a chapter you've all been waiting for.
> 
> Thank you so much to [Rae](http://extranikiforov.tumblr.com) who beta'd in a crunch while on vacation. INSANELY THANKFUL FOR YOU. Also to [Robbie](http://thehobbem.tumblr.com) for your unparalleled enthusiasm. All three of us have the best fandom marriage, like, ever. 
> 
> NOW WITH A GORGEOUS FANART FROM [NAE](http://nae812.tumblr.com) WHICH YOU CAN [FIND AND REBLOG HERE.](http://nae812.tumblr.com/post/169596606217/commission-for-maydei-this-scene-is-from-their) THANK YOU SO SO MUCH.
> 
> Without further ado, here we go. Please direct your screaming to the comments or to my tumblr when you've finished. :3c

 

 

They walked side by side, the morning crisp and cool, and cooler yet along the shore. The winds ruffled Yuuri’s ears and made him shiver; his jacket was warm, but he wished he had brought gloves.

Victor was a perfect picture of elegance in his long coat and his windswept hair, though he eventually pulled it back into a loose bun at the nape of his neck. He kept hair ties in his pockets, Yuuri found, and small rubber bands around the coat’s quarter-sized buttons. But Victor’s casual disarray was appealing as it ever was, especially here on the beaches Yuuri had been raised by.

He was nervous. He would not deny he was nervous.

They meandered along the shore, admiring the light on the waves, the sound of the gulls and the surf. Yuuri wasn’t sure why he led Victor toward the bridge, other than that the space beneath it was wide and sheltered and would be tucked away from prying eyes. Yuuri didn’t expect anyone to be present—the early morning fishermen would already be in the bay, and the students wouldn’t come out until the afternoon when the warm temperatures peaked. Even then, they usually preferred the sunny spots not tempered by the harsh cut of the ocean breeze.

They approached the bridge in companionable quiet, and Yuuri quickly realized they would not be alone. That was not enough to shake him. Other safe places were easily found.

But _who_ they saw brought Victor to a standstill.

Yuri—and he wasn’t alone.

With a heavy leather jacket around him, Yuri brushed shoulders with another boy. They bent over something small held between them; Yuuri thought he glimpsed the bright green cord of a pair of earphones. Yuri bobbed his head to a melody unheard, his smile bright and wide and—

Yuuri had never seen him look so… happy.

The dark hair and easy slouch of the other boy was recognizable by rumor alone. Yuuri knew who it was long before he caught a glimpse of the strong features and small, fond expression of Otabek Altin. He had never quite seen that expression on Otabek, either.

His memory of Otabek served a boy who never smiled, rarely opened up, never was one to share belongings or companionable silence. Much like his initial impression of Seung-gil, Yuuri had considered Otabek unattached, and unlikely to become so in the near future.

Until now, when the attachment was as clear as anything else.

Victor was rigid and wordless at his side.

Yuuri turned and put his back to Otabek and Yuri. Innocent as the scene appeared, it wasn’t in the actions, but in the easy familiarity Yuri shared with someone who was decidedly _not_ Victor.

Victor would never begrudge Yuri friends. Yuuri knew this. But—

Victor blinked slowly. He didn’t ask who Yuri’s companion was. Neither were they close enough that Yuri or Otabek seemed to notice them. But he watched in silence, and even with Yuuri turned to face him, his gaze was locked over Yuuri’s shoulder—the first time he had ever been distracted in Yuuri’s presence.

And he said, “I’ve never seen him smile like that.” His eyes drifted to Yuuri’s face after a time, Yuuri’s silence read carefully as his ears turned outward and flattened at Victor’s hollow response. “Never.”

Yuuri had no words. He wasn’t sure what the right thing to say was in this context. He fisted his hand in the sleeve of Victor’s jacket. Victor reached out to cling to him in turn.

“I thought he was still asleep,” Victor said, and his voice sounded empty. Victor’s gaze drifted back to Yuri, the pale blonde of his hair a shock against the shadows of the space he and Otabek shared. “He must’ve barely rested. And I had no sense that he was gone. None. I had no idea. I…”

“Victor,” Yuuri murmured. He stepped forward, closer, close enough that if the wind were not so sheer, he might’ve felt Victor’s body heat. This time he did not. His hands were solid, an anchor on Victor’s upper arms, but gentle.

Victor didn’t look at him, so Yuuri reached out again to cup Victor’s cheek in his palm, and Yuuri found it cold. The strange pain in his eyes echoed in Yuuri’s chest, drew a type of sympathy that Yuuri had never needed to know. But neither had he ever seen this kind of look on Victor, and he certainly didn’t like it.

He was… confused. Lost. There was no spark of jealousy, no heated anger, but the strange drifting sadness of a ship without a captain, a sailor on the sea without the given stars to guide him.

But his eyes found Yuuri’s as he looked for an anchor to ground him, and Yuuri was there.

Yuuri was there.

He said nothing as his hand drifted down the curve of Victor’s cheek to skim the side of his neck, across the broad line of his shoulder and down his arm again. Yuuri followed this path until their hands were wound together, and this time when Yuuri sought to distract him, Victor allowed it.

Yuuri turned them both through the gentle guide of his fingers, tugged Victor around and back and _away._

He didn’t need to see them. But more importantly, they shouldn’t intrude.

Victor was right. Yuuri barely knew Yuri at all, but he knew that he had never seen the boy look quite so happy.

“I know another place,” Yuuri murmured. “Across the bay, and we can walk there. Let’s go, okay?”

Victor ducked his head. Yuuri had never seen him look contrite like that. But he nodded, and the sinking sorrow in Yuuri’s chest was appeased by the way Victor let Yuuri lead him, by the way he squeezed Yuuri’s hand.

But despite himself, Yuuri could not find it in himself to be angry. Upset on Victor’s behalf, for Victor’s sadness—but not at Yuri.

As they wandered away with Victor’s hand in his, the bridge slowly shrinking behind them, Yuuri spoke. “It’s good for them to have friends,” he offered carefully. “Otabek doesn’t open up easily.”

Victor processed this for a moment, and Yuuri knew the name had sunken into his mind, never to be forgotten. Victor walked along the outside edge and Yuuri closer to the sea, churning restlessly in the wind. He sent Yuuri a sidelong glance. “You’re not mad at him on my behalf?”

Yuuri squeezed his hand again, once, short and sweet. He was worried for Victor, but the energy between them was… strange. Full. And just as easily as he knew that Victor was upset, he knew it was not with Yuri. “Why?” Yuuri asked, and met his sidled glance. “You’re not mad at him either. Do you want me to be?”

Victor dropped his gaze; Yuuri held his own. The small curve of Victor’s lips was nearly imperceptible. Would have been to anyone else.

Yuuri was not anyone else.

“No,” Victor replied. “I think I like it more that you’re not.”

Yuuri could not deny he was relieved. “Good. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know.” Victor wandered a little closer until their shoulders brushed, their hands chilled between them. “I’m just surprised. Yura doesn’t make friends easily. With a college student, no less.” He frowned slightly.

Yuuri snorted, and the sound was lost to the wind. “Really? You’re one to talk. How many years are between you?”

Victor grimaced. “More than I’m willing to forget.”

Yuuri glanced at him. The sun above them was high as the shore started to curve, and he and Victor slowly approached the other side of the bay. “My sister and Minako are eighteen years apart.”

Victor’s jaw twitched. He studiously avoided looking at Yuuri. “Objectively, I knew that. But the specifics—”

“It was always there,” Yuuri said slowly, thinking back on all the late night conversations, on all the times that Mari had called Minako her best friend. Minako was Mari’s only confidante, and that was by choice. And Yuuri was sure that Minako would have stayed as they were forever, until… “Minako was like our older sister, in a way. Always there for us. Always there for Mari. Always offered advice and help and whatever she needed. Mari had her ears until she was eighteen, but her mark showed up when she was twelve. They must’ve known for a while.”

Yuuri considered. Victor made a passive sound of intrigue. “What happened?”

“Mari got old enough. And whatever she felt was still there, so she told me that she loved Minako and she was going to do everything she could to be with her. So she courted her, I guess. And Mari’s stubborn. She gets what she wants. She’s…” Yuuri trailed off and cringed. He shrugged helplessly. “She’s _Relentless._ It’s just who she is.”

To his credit, Victor didn’t _quite_ cringe at the pun. But he looked thoughtful, a little wistful as he swung their hands between them, a slow and comfortable arc that was timed with their steps across the sand. “They say the name is who we are. I never understood mine.”

Yuuri thought of an unlikely meeting, of a picnic table, of a small single bed. He had no better answer—only a question in the back of his mind. “Lots of things are beautiful without understanding them. Lots of things happen without knowing why. Do you think that’s still fate?”

Victor’s pace slowed to a stop. Yuuri turned to face him, their hands still connected.

Victor stared at him like he was something strange, and Yuuri’s tail twitched. It coiled around his thigh, self-conscious and unsure, and Victor looked just as shaken.

Yuuri filled the silence. “Let’s keep going,” he said. “It’s not much further.”

They came to a place where the water met the sand and the sand met the trees, secluded and lovely and far enough away from anything that they could no longer hear the cars in the distance. What few boats were on the waves were far out on the bay. Above them was only sky and sun, the storm of the night before long since gone.

When Victor started to pull ahead, Yuuri let him go.

Victor at the water’s edge was like something out of a dream, even with his back to Yuuri. Strands of his hair fell out of his loose bun, catching on his high collar, which was turned against the wind. The sun turned the fawn color of his trench coat nearly bronze. Victor was beautiful, sweeping, the kind of person who did not belong in Hasetsu any more than Yuuri was meant to leave it.

When he turned to look at Yuuri with uncertainty deep in his eyes, they were the same color as the waves, the same blue-green of an omen.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Victor said softly, and Yuuri was surprised he could hear the sound at all. His ears perked and strained for every whisper. “I’ve only used my spells in battle or sparring sessions. I don’t know how to show you without hurting you.”

There was something about Victor’s nervousness that gave Yuuri calm. There was something about when he doubted himself that made Yuuri want to show him everything he himself saw in Victor. His strength. His power. His grace. His command. The way Victor captivated attention and drew Yuuri’s focus—Yuuri wanted to show him it all.

So he breathed it in and found that place at his center that was undisturbed, that was solid like stone and dense and dangerous and waiting, performatively placid until the moment was right.

Yuuri thought of Mari and the sharpness in her eyes. Minako’s easy affection. Phichit’s grip on his wrist, and Seung-gil’s stoic regard.

Yuuri held out his hand. “You won’t.”

He saw the moment his resolve resonated with Victor. He saw the widening of his eyes and the slight part of his lips as Victor reached back, and stepped forward until his hand was held securely in Yuuri’s.

Yuuri felt _real_ , like this. Being Victor’s anchor felt… vindicating.

It was a darker part of himself that Yuuri didn’t like to consider often, that craved attention and validation, and that prickled at the whispers that followed him because of his stupid _ears._ A part of himself that longed to be proven properly, to show the world he was _far_ from a child. He was worthwhile. He was strong.

If he could give strength to someone as strong as Victor in turn…

And then Victor looked at him like _that,_ and the world turned on its head again.

The itch to be powerful for power’s sake morphed into something protective. The trust Victor put in him as he lay his hand in Yuuri’s felt almost sacred. Victor was strong, yes, but they could be unstoppable together—

—if Victor was his.

And he wasn’t.

But Yuuri didn’t care.

Victor stood close, their linked hands pressed between their chests as Yuuri held them over his heart. He tipped his head to the side to rest his cheek against them, keeping his eyes on Victor all the while. “How do you start?”

Victor blinked slowly, still staring at their hands, at the affectionate and gentle touch of Yuuri’s cheek against his skin in the broad light of day. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before he found the words. “The battle is declared. Names are exchanged. Usually Fighter and Sacrifice are together; if they’re separated, they’re much weaker.”

“You’re not proving your strength to me,” Yuuri replied gently. “Just showing me a part of you. Who you are. Right?”

Victor breathed out, a little tremulous. He took another deep breath in, and when he exhaled, this time was steady. “Right. A Fighter on their own carries a quarter of the power of a matched pair. Mismatched pairs are even more rare, but they operate at half-matched power.”

“Mismatched?” Yuuri asked, and he tried not to linger on the thought of blonde hair and green eyes.

“Usually Sacrifices trying to figure out if they’re compatible with a Blank Fighter. Sometimes we have trial partnerships, there are so few of us now. Everyone wants to hold out to find their other half. But,” Victor said ruefully, “Not everyone finds their match. Sometimes things happen. Accidents. Geography. Death. It’s not infallible. But no one wants to be that person, so they wait. They hope.”

Yuuri reached up with his free hand to tuck a piece of Victor’s bangs behind the flushed shell of his ear. It was cold to the touch, but Yuuri’s fingers weren’t much better. Victor leaned into the feeling anyway, eyes fluttering closed.

Yuuri stroked his cheek once, unable to resist. Victor was so soft in his hands, so needing, so _loving._ If Victor felt even a little bit like Yuuri did, he was starting to understand why Victor would be willing to do anything Yuuri said.

Because turnabout was fair play, and Yuuri would give him anything he needed. _Anything._

“Victor, I want you to forget matched, unmatched, all of that. Be with me now. You said you want to protect me,” Yuuri murmured as Victor crowded close. He took their joined hands and turned, deliberately wrapping Victor’s arm around him as Yuuri stepped back against his chest. The warmth there was… good. Perfect. A balm against the cold of the ocean breeze. And Yuuri liked to imagine he could feel Victor’s heart pounding against his back, whether or not it was possible through the layers of their coats.

He turned them toward the water, Victor’s surprised huff of breath warm against his scalp. He could feel Victor’s tension seeping out of his bones. His voice was a sigh that was shivering-close, threaded with conviction. “Yes.”

Yuuri turned his face up just barely to cast a glance up at Victor over his shoulder, and found Victor looking back. Waiting. “Then show me.”

Victor held his eyes for one long, electric moment. And then his hand, still held to Yuuri’s chest, uncurled and spread wide against his heart. He pulled Yuuri more firmly back against him and leaned forward, his face pressed against Yuuri’s hair for a moment, nose skimming the edge of his ear. “Yes,” Victor repeated softly. “Anything.”

Yuuri felt Victor’s lips and hummed a soft noise of content and comfort. For a few seconds, there was nothing but the calm. But every storm had a moment of stillness just before it poured, and this was theirs.

Victor let him go.

Yuuri turned to find Victor unmoving, eyes closed—and like the moment before a lightning strike, the air grew charged, bright, and Yuuri could taste ozone on his tongue. The hair on his ears and tail rose, and under his jacket he could feel the rush of goosebumps on his arms.

Yuuri turned his back to the ocean, to anything that wasn’t Victor.

“I am the Fighter for _Fated,”_ Victor said. Like a rising tide, his eyes opened. _“Initiate system.”_

 _Light._ Bright and blinding, spreading in a circle from under Victor’s feet, outward and seaward until they were surrounded by it. When Victor looked up, his very movements looked _sharp_ , a more visceral kind of instinct that Yuuri had never seen in him before.

Victor pulled the tie from his hair in a sweep, sending the sheet of it tumbling over his shoulder. In the glow he had created he looked white. Glimmering. Ethereal.

Powerful. And Yuuri understood why Victor was something of a legend as he felt that power resonate in his bones.

Victor stepped forward with purpose, shoulders straight and sharp, head raised. He focused on Yuuri and stood before him, close enough to touch—and held his hands out, palms up.

Yuuri did not hesitate. He took Victor’s hands in his own and held them, feeling the push of awareness at the edge of his senses, the hypersensation that had his skin prickling, eyes bursting with color. His ears turned forward, intensely interested.

When Yuuri turned their joined hands over, the name _Fated_ was lit up like a star, glowing.

Yuuri’s tail flickered behind him with the force of his focus, until finally, Yuuri let go. He did so gently, holding Victor’s expectant gaze, and raised his chin. Yuuri offered a smile that felt just a little too sharp, but Victor echoed it. He matched it.

He matched Yuuri in every way but one.

“What can you do like this?” Yuuri asked breathlessly.

Victor’s hands fell to his sides and he flexed his fingers. His grin was small, but no less bright. “Let me show you.”

And Yuuri watched.

Victor breathed in and out in perfect time, and the waves on the shore rose higher with each inward pull. Each ebb and swell grew with the flush on his cheeks, the bow-lipped smile that made him more beautiful than the light ever could. Yuuri found himself subconsciously syncing to him, echoing. He had always learned best following the footwork of a teacher, until—

—abruptly Victor sobered, and sparked to life.

 _“Call rain,”_ he said, and his voice was weighted. _“A hundred clouds for a single storm, and a hundred thousand drops to fall.”_

An ocean wave crested as Victor reached out, growing nearer and nearer as it swept up the shore toward them, and with a turn of his wrist, transformed into a dense fog. It rose above them in a cloud of steam, condensing and circling above their heads, higher and higher—it grew darker with every coil, and the air changed from cold to tepid to warm until Yuuri could barely breathe from the humidity. It felt like the wait before the summer monsoons when the rains never ended, when Yuuri could never quite get dry. And now, around and above them, Victor had made a summer storm out of a clear autumn sky.

Arm outstretched above his head, the momentous curl of Victor’s fingers into a fist brought thunder. If Yuuri weren’t so captivated, he might’ve dreaded getting wet. Victor’s eyes were turned skyward as he exhaled, his closed fist brought down to anchor against his chest, and the torrent began.

But with the curl of Victor’s lips and a fierce expression of concentration, it never reached the ground. _“I protect, and I am protected; she rises in the West, and never finds East. This ends here.”_

The wind roared around them and Yuuri’s ears folded down, his tail pulled tight against him and his arms wrapped around himself. The wind was warm but strong, and Yuuri’s eyes were huge behind his off-kilter glasses, wind meeting water in a shield entirely of Victor’s making.

And Yuuri was…

His chest hurt. Not from pain or from fear, but from a wonder and affection so immense that he felt fit to burst. Victor was standing in the eye of a storm that he had pulled from the sea, building a natural phenomenon with his own hands and his own will. And that—

—that person spent his free time being enamored with someone as utterly unremarkable as _Yuuri._

And he couldn’t understand it, but Yuuri felt humbled and small, so small. And even as he did, he was filled with a certainty that Victor’s strength, great as it was, could not stand on its own.  There was sweat beading on his temples, and the grit of his teeth had turned severe as he fought to hold himself together without support.

Victor was not made for fighting alone.

Yuuri took a step forward, and then another. He didn’t know if he could touch, if it would be welcome or if it was allowed, but he could give Victor what he needed. Support, physical or emotional—he would give it gladly.

“Steady,” Yuuri said, and set his spine as he dug in, unmovable against the roar. He felt Victor’s flicker of surprise more than he saw it, sensed him falter before the word sank in. “Steady, Victor.”

When Victor refortified himself, he was strong but stiff. His stance was brittle, rigid. With the right pressure, he could topple—Yuuri could think of several ways to make him fall, and wondered if it was the strain of Victor trying too hard. Maybe he had a stronger foundation underneath, Yuuri thought. But like this, watching Victor hold himself so tense, he could see every weakness in his stance that Minako would have exploited. No fancy vocabulary could have saved him from her knowledge of the human body and its limits.

But for now, in this case, this squall was of Victor’s making, and it was no match for him.

 _“She follows my tracks,”_ Victor said so softly that Yuuri barely heard. _“But she will not find me. Wipe away the trace so none remains.”_

Yuuri was sure he would forever remember the sight of Victor then, his hair and coat whipping around him, the epicenter of something life changing—something new. Even as Victor’s twist of reality shattered around them, Yuuri’s life was reordering the pieces to make sense of the mess.

And Victor remained at the heart of it all.

Victor’s hand fell to his side, and Yuuri thought he saw his fingers tremble with sudden relief from the strain. The water drained over the sides of his windmade barricade in rivulets, rolling down like raindrops on a window until they puddled in the sand. The clouds above dissipated into mist, the same kind that was kicked up when the sea struck a storm wall. It was carried away without fuss.

And when the gusts had died down to a breeze, they were both left together, standing in the dry center of a circle of wet sand. It may have been a trick of the light, but Yuuri thought it was already been beginning to dry.

His mind was awash with wonder, with questions, but one thing stood out to Yuuri at the forefront of all the magic: the word _she_.

But Lilia was in hiding, and finding her was Victor’s goal. Mari didn’t even know he was here, so—

—someone else was after Victor, and he did not want to be found.

_I didn’t mean to be away for that long. If I’d known, I would have told you._

Yuuri swallowed heavily, his ears folded back as he stared at the ring of wet sand. Could Victor really be capable of things like this and still be threatened? The thought was chilling. But even worse was the thought that, if Victor was in danger, he had left with Yuri to face it on his own.

And Yuuri never would have known any different.

“Where did you go?” Yuuri asked as he stepped forward, his heart beating in his mouth, his tongue too thick to swallow. “The other night, when you were gone. Where did you go?”

Victor’s hands were shaking still, exhilarated and exhausted and _alive_ in this moment of honesty when all was open and raw between them _._ He looked up through the hair in his face, mussed of his own making and the storm he’d brought to life around them, now gone. “I haven’t checked in with Yakov since I left.” His shoulders tensed. “And it’s… been a few weeks. So they sent someone after me. Yura and I didn’t want her to cause trouble, but we knew she was getting close, and I knew she would find you. So we led her away. From you. From here.”

Victor went quiet. He looked aside to avoid Yuuri’s eyes, avoid the questions he didn’t feel ready to answer—the very same questions Yuuri didn’t know how to ask. “I didn’t want to go, but I… I had to be sure you were safe. So I left.”

Victor glanced down at the water ring which was dissolving under the high, cold autumn sun. Had there ever been any rain at all, or had the whole thing been an illusion? Yuuri had no way of knowing for sure.

“She’ll come back. She’s smart. But I just wanted to give us more time.” Victor took a step toward him, wounded and vulnerable and beautiful, his heart visible in his eyes. His hands trembled when he looked down at them, white-knuckled tension. When he turned them over, the letters there were pale and plain, just like scars. There was no sign of the glow emanating from the name that gave Victor his power. But plain as it was, the sight of it seemed to dishearten him. Victor’s shoulders slumped. “I want more time with you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri could hardly breathe. He wanted that too—he wanted Victor so much, even if they were inching closer to the end of what they’d been given. But if Victor had to go, if _this_ was all they had, Yuuri swore to every god and every star that he would dig his heels in and stand his ground.

He was going to hold on for now and fight tooth and nail if he had to.

If it was only for now, Victor was still _his._

Yuuri stepped forward and took Victor’s face in his hands, pressed their foreheads together and felt the shudder of Victor’s breath against his lips. His lashes fluttered as he stared at Yuuri, and the untouchable person Victor had been in the midst of his spells softened with Yuuri’s affection. After all, Victor was _more_ than magic, more than his abilities, and though they were a part of him and a part of the legends that had carried him away from home, Victor was just… _Victor._

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be permanent to be fate,” Yuuri said. He sounded stronger than he felt, though his heart was clenching and his eyes stinging. Even just the _threat_ of this loss was enough to bring him down. He didn’t want to imagine more lonely nights and cold mornings waking up alone. But if he had the choice to have known this intimacy for a short time, or to forget having it altogether, Yuuri knew what he’d choose. “Maybe I was always meant to meet you, for no matter how long this lasts.”

Victor clutched at Yuuri’s shoulders, his bangs a wind-whipped mess in his face, catching in Yuuri’s glasses in a way that couldn’t have been comfortable. But his eyes were wide, untouched by pain but flooded with emotion and so, so blue.

Yuuri closed his and let the truth spill into the darkness he’d created. “Victor, you’re the first person I’ve ever wanted to hold on to.”

He stumbled, eyes opening when Victor pulled him near and crushed him into an embrace. He murmured something too quietly for Yuuri to hear, lost in the tangle of Yuuri’s hair.

Yuuri reached up, his fingers threading together against the nape of Victor’s neck. He held tight and savored the sensation. He wished desperately it was his to keep.

And then Victor pulled back, just enough to look at Yuuri properly. Like this, the wind and the cold hardly mattered. There were only two people standing alone on a sheltered beach, sharing body heat and an intimacy that had nothing to do with it.

“I’d be happy,” Victor murmured, and leaned in until his cold nose brushed Yuuri’s cheek. “If Yura was happy. But that doesn’t feel like enough for me anymore. Is that selfish?”

Yuuri’s hands drifted upward until he cupped Victor’s cheeks. The thing about catching a chill was that, when they were both cold, it felt like being warm. Yuuri couldn’t be sure what their shared reality was now—whether they were freezing, or whether they were catching fire.

But if they felt the same, did it matter?

“I’m selfish,” Yuuri murmured, and kissed him.

If the feel of Victor’s lips was a surprise, his tongue was a shock, the barest brush of it against Yuuri’s upper lip at Victor’s surprised hiss of breath. But he dove into Yuuri like there was nothing and no one else; pushed his hands into Yuuri’s hair to hold him steady, even as Yuuri pressed insistently forward.

Yuuri was sure his glasses were getting crushed, but he was far more interested in the soft, sucking kisses and the sting of Victor’s teeth. Oh, but the hurt was just on the right side of nice, and they were eager for _more_ and _everything._ They bumped noses more than once, but the shuddery laughter that filled the scant space between them hardly felt like a failure.

Yuuri was desperate for him.

He wasn’t sure how he had gone without this, and he didn’t know if he ever could again.

Victor’s hands settled at the base of Yuuri’s ears, ripping a moan straight from Yuuri’s gut. The parting of his lips was invitation enough for Victor’s tongue to taste the line of his teeth, to press slick and hot against his own.

And then Yuuri’s hands caught in the tangle of Victor’s hair, and his hiss of pain finally broke them apart.

Yuuri cursed and pulled his fingers free as gently as he could manage. He pressed his face to Victor’s temple as they caught their breath. Arousal was a pleasant curl in his belly that kept him warm enough to be satisfied, and Yuuri picked apart the knot in Victor’s hair carefully before he moved onto the next.

Victor’s touch drifted down his back, and Yuuri’s hair stood on end when his fingers traced the curve of his tail. This time, though—this time Yuuri allowed it, and his open-mouthed gasp against Victor’s cheek was the symptom of an emotional sucker punch that he would happily take twice.

Victor did it again. Yuuri squirmed, every nerve sparking fire, and he scritched at Victor’s scalp in electric retribution. Victor’s choked-off keen was the sweetest sound Yuuri had ever heard.

Victor dropped his head to Yuuri’s shoulder and turned his face against Yuuri’s neck. He mouthed at his throat in lippy, ticklish nibbles that had Yuuri snorting with laughter. But he made no effort to push Victor away—instead, pet down the curve of Victor’s skull and wandered across his shoulders, just… holding.

Savoring.

“They can send a dozen people after me,” Victor said against Yuuri’s skin. “I’ll fight them all.”

Yuuri knew the words should unsettle him, maybe even scare him. Instead, he just felt centered. Perfectly at peace with Victor in his arms and Victor’s taste on his tongue. It would take more than a little magic for anyone to take Victor away from him. Yuuri’s ears flicked outward at the thought.

“You wouldn’t fight alone,” he replied, and ran his fingers through silver waves and thought of bloody knuckles, if nothing else. Yuuri had never been the fighting type, but for Victor, he would.

It took a moment, but Victor pulled himself upright, and Yuuri was forced to let him go. Face to face, with a flush high in his cheeks, Yuuri saw a light in Victor’s eyes that reminded him of lightning, of his fabricated storm. “Yuuri, I would like nothing more.”

Their hands found each other’s in an ionic pull. And when Yuuri looked down, he realized that the wet sand had dried, and this stretch of time that had changed something visceral had left no trace behind.

But it had changed him. It had changed _them._

There was no going back.

And _that_ had stopped feeling like a terrible idea at all.

Yuuri leaned into Victor’s side, and when Victor’s cheek nearly crushed Yuuri’s ear, even the weight did not feel uncomfortable. “Let’s walk for a while,” Yuuri said. “Tell me about your home. About your friends. About your life.”

Victor squeezed his hand. “Okay.”

They wandered up and down the beaches, straying far from the bridge. Yuuri no longer bore it any mind. His attention was solely focused on Victor, on his stories, on the kisses Victor stole because he _could_ and Yuuri let him.

Victor walked with grace, a well of energy under a thin veneer of spun silver and porcelain. And he smiled like a star at Yuuri’s questions, at Yuuri’s interest, and whenever Yuuri reached out to touch him _first._

And how could Yuuri not? Victor was impossible to ignore. Impossible to avoid. He wanted every moment they had together sealed forever in the corners of his mind. Every kiss. Every touch. Archived and saved and kept as carefully as Yuuri could manage to remember.

He felt… _drawn,_ like a magnet to a pole, and Victor was his North.

Maybe he always had been. And maybe he wouldn’t be forever, but Yuuri would fight for it.

For him.

For them both.

 

* * *

 

 

By the end of the day, Victor’s exhaustion from the day before had caught up to him again. He dragged through the evening, running on empty. Yuri had not returned in time for dinner, and Yuuri didn’t have to guess where he might be. Victor’s thoughtful frown at his closed door was contemplative, not contemptuous, and they both let the matter rest. The onsen was always open to late-wandering patrons, and Victor kept his phone close in case of calls. None came.

When the day melted into night, Victor barely had enough energy to roll onto his back and let Yuuri press kisses to his mouth and cheeks and eyelids until he dozed off. He nestled down into a bundle of blankets and Yuuri’s arms. Yuuri had never seen him more at peace.

He deserved the rest, Yuuri thought as he smoothed Victor’s bathing-damp bangs out of his face, and Victor sleepily nuzzled into his palm. And no matter what time together they had, Yuuri was more concerned with simply having Victor _present._ Kisses and cuddles and affectionate touches were soothing, but knowing that Victor was safe soothed Yuuri’s heart more than a sweatshirt ever could.

Yuuri swept the warm, wet locks of Victor’s hair aside and kissed the back of his neck. He could use the extra rest, too. After all, they would have tomorrow to spend their time however they—

Yuuri’s phone chimed under his pillow. Victor did not wake. 

 

> << hey bro, meet me at my place in the morning. i have someone i want you to meet, but it’ll take us a little while to get there.

Yuuri did not fumble his phone, but it was a near thing as he squinted at the backlit screen in the dark.

Oh.

Yuuri heaved out a sigh. He kissed the back of Victor’s neck again, and got a contented mumble in reply. Yuuri turned his volume down to vibrate and his screen brightness to almost nothing, then rolled over so his back was against Victor’s as he typed out his message to Mari.

 

> >> ill be there at 10
> 
> << make it 7 and i won’t tell minako you tried to push this back to 10. she’ll start you with morning lessons again if she knew

Yuuri could think of a thousand things he’d rather be doing at seven in the morning. He flushed and cursed himself at the part of his brain that unhelpfully supplied that Victor was one of them.

Sleep. _Sleep_ was what he’d prefer.

 

> >>730\. and im sleeping on the train
> 
> << we’re taking minako’s car. we’ll have you back before too late so you can help mom with sunday chores and have time to grade your papers. ok?
> 
> << and minako says 7 or we leave without you. sorry she’s reading over my shoulder

Yuuri nearly groaned. He didn’t, but it was a close thing.

> >> fine. night
> 
> << night bro sleep while u can

Yuuri shoved his phone back under his pillow with a huff. He knew he had his own angle on this, he knew he had questions he wanted answered, but couldn’t Mari have waited just a _little_ bit longer?

Yuuri felt movement beside him just in time for Victor to turn over, seeking the contact he’d lost that had disturbed his sleep, reaching out for Yuuri in the dark. “Yuuri. C‘mere.”

Yuuri smiled to himself and turned his face against the pillow. Victor scooted up behind him and fit their bodies together, his arm resting comfortably in the slight curve of Yuuri’s waist. Yuuri’s heart still beat a thousand miles a minute when he shuffled his legs apart for Victor’s knee to settle between his thighs, his tail caught in the warm press of space between them. It was somehow nice to know that not _everything_ changed.

It all still felt new. Exciting and shiny and perfect, and Yuuri had never had anything like this before, and he never wanted anything else again—just this. Just Victor.

“Hey,” Yuuri murmured and tapped at the back of Victor’s hand until he got a hum in response. “I’m going on a trip with Phichit tomorrow, but I’ll be back before bed. Maybe you can spend some time with Yuri. Okay?”

“Mm,” Victor hummed noncommittally.

Yuuri couldn’t be sure if he was really awake at all. “Victor? Did you hear what I said?”

“Mm-mm.” Victor nuzzled his face against Yuuri’s fuzzy ear, and despite the warm feeling of affection in Yuuri’s chest, he knew Victor was a helpless case.

He patted the back of Victor’s hand that rested over his heart, then slotted their fingers together to cover the name he knew was there, even if he couldn’t see it. “Okay. Night, Victor.”

He felt Victor’s hand twitch under his, the brush of Victor’s lips against his fragile skin and tiny veins. “Vitya.”

Yuuri blinked, his eyes unseeing in the night. “Hmm?”

Victor’s voice was still only half-there, equal parts tentative and insistent. “Vitya,” he sighed. “ ‘s softer.”

Yuuri exhaled. It _sounded_ soft, like fondness rolled into a name. Realization crept up on him. “Like Yura.”

“Mmhm. Your Vitya.”

Yuuri’s heart thundered under Victor’s palm, and he silently cursed his sister for her timing. For taking him away from _this_ so soon, when he could gladly spend all of tomorrow lounging in Victor’s arms, learning all the ways he could make _Vitya_ sound like a prayer.

But they would have time. Yuuri would do this, and he might learn something to help them both, and he would _make_ them time where there wasn’t any.

He tried to convince himself that finding Lilia without Victor knowing was not a betrayal, and wasn’t entirely successful. He tried to tell himself that his pull toward Victor was not hurting Mari, but he didn’t quite succeed on that one either.

“Yuuri,” Victor whispered against his hair. “Loud thoughts.”

Yuuri swallowed and closed his eyes, though the darkness didn’t change a bit. “Sorry.”

Victor’s hand drifted down and brought Yuuri’s with it, until it spread wide and warm and anchored against Yuuri’s belly, tucked under the hem of his sleep shirt on bare skin. Yuuri’s abs twitched at the ticklish sensation of Victor’s fingers, and his tail jerked once where it was caught between their bodies.

Victor reached between them and pitched his hips back to free Yuuri’s tail, smoothing his hand down the column of tiny, fluff-covered vertebrae. He guided it to rest over his thigh instead of being pinned under it, and Yuuri hadn’t realized how uncomfortable it had been until the pressure was gone. He sighed in relief and Victor settled back beside him, and Yuuri went a little breathless at the soft swell of Victor’s groin pressed against his back with only a few thin layers between them.

It was the thought more than anything else. The intimacy. And with Victor’s fingers idly tracing shapes on Yuuri’s belly again, everything felt warm and languid and brimming with promise.

But not tonight. Not quite.

Yuuri swallowed and turned his head, craned back toward his shoulder. “Vitya,” Yuuri mumbled. “Kiss me?”

The mattress dipped under the sharp force of Victor’s elbow as he leaned up obligingly, a rumble of satisfaction in his chest that transferred to Yuuri’s lips. It was little more than a chaste press of mouths, a simple show of affection, but it settled Yuuri’s nerves and grounded him. Victor was always there to keep him tethered, it seemed.

Victor kissed Yuuri again, and then his cheek and his temple before he settled back in for rest. He sounded more aware, but no less tired, when he mumbled, “Have fun tomorrow. Say bye before you go.”

Yuuri smiled, and his voice was warm when he gently teased, “You’re one to talk.”

Victor nosed at Yuuri’s hair until he found the tender, pink curve of Yuuri’s human ear. The sensation was sharp, nearly too much when he nibbled it in retribution. Yuuri’s child ears fluttered at the jolt.

He swallowed and beat back the shudder that was aching to tear through his body. “Sleep, Vitya.”

And with a soft murmur and a gentler chuckle, Yuuri was sure Victor did.

Yuuri stayed awake as long as he could manage, soaking in the feeling of Victor lying beside him. Tomorrow he would meet the woman who had raised Victor and abandoned him. Lilia Baranovskaya was an intimidating ghost to bear, and her reputation preceded her. Yuuri stewed in his nerves and in anxious anticipation, unsure of what tomorrow would bring.

He lay silent in Victor’s arms until he could no longer resist the pull of sleep.

When he dreamed, it was of the faceless shadow of a women he had not yet met, and the echo of a name in silver he longed to have for his own.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Given the continued state of the Best Stuff First feature, please [reblog this tumblr post](http://maydei.tumblr.com/post/167806908617/title-fated-pairing-victuuri-victor) to share it with your followers! You have my eternal thanks!!
> 
> ~~Also if anyone would like to... try their hand... at some art.... or something.... I might in fact, like, literally die.~~


	10. Weightless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri meets Lilia, and ends up with more questions than answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where things will start picking up and more of the plot starts rolling, not just Yuuri's feels. Thank you all so much for your reactions to the last chapter. I'm finally starting to free up again as things slow down at work and I hope to try to work through the replies on at least the last chapter and then more reliably moving forward. Thanks as always to [Rae](http://extranikiforov.tumblr.com) for her help with betaing and finding my stupid mistakes. Also very excited to announce that I am now the proud owner of a brand new laptop! What a gentle beast.

 

 

Yuuri had underestimated just how difficult it would be to disentangle himself from Victor in the morning, not because he was stuck or held down, but because he didn’t want to leave. Victor was warm and wrapped around him and Yuuri had never wanted to get out of bed _less_ than he did in that moment _._

But he had to. This would benefit them both… eventually.

So Yuuri crawled out of bed and shivered at the cold and knelt on the floor beside Victor to kiss him, not even really awake. He longed for the exact spot he had just left behind. Yuuri got ready, pulled on jeans and a gray button-down with his sweatshirt layered over the top, and cast one last regretful look at Victor as he slid the door shut behind him. He repeated his lie to his mother as he left, knowing that it was unlikely Mari would call and ruin his cover—better to let his parents think he was out wandering the coast with Phichit than give himself away.

Yuuri walked to Minako’s in the budding sunrise, gray and pink painted across the sky. It was still too damn early, and Yuuri shivered and stuffed his hands into his pockets to protect them from the wind. Fall was upon them, and though winter was a ways off still, Yuuri sensed the first frosts would not be far behind.

Mari and Minako were waiting for him when he arrived, packed for a road trip. Though Yuuri knew it couldn’t have been terribly far if they promised to have him home by evening, the reality of being crammed in a car was even less thrilling than he’d imagined.

Yuuri barely grumbled a hello and packed himself into the back seat of the narrow vehicle, making a bundle out of his sweatshirt to use as a pillow as he leaned against the window. He didn’t even have to ask for Mari to dial on the heat; she did so with her own series of grumbles as she kicked her feet up onto the dash. Minako pushed them back down again, and Yuuri snorted gently as she pulled out onto the road and he started to doze.

It couldn’t have been more than an hour or two before the car began to slow and Yuuri drifted awake. He frowned at the complex they had pulled up to, the heavy gates, the looming security cameras, and the cluster of buildings within. He sat upright, ears perked forward as he peered out the car window. “Where are we?”

Minako pulled up to a keypad, her window open, arm outstretched. The breeze that cut through was brisk; it was colder here than it had been in Hasetsu. The numbers beeped as Minako typed in her access code, and though the gate was huge and sturdy, it did not squeak as it rolled open. “The Seven Voices Academy in Goura.”

“Goura?” Yuuri frowned. Goura was almost two hours north, well into the mountains. Lilia Baranovskaya was centered _here?_ It was no wonder that Victor hadn’t found her if his only clue to her whereabouts were Mari and Minako.

It was smart, Yuuri thought, to make her base so far away. A two-hour radius from Hasetsu was still hundreds of kilometers to cover. More than two people could handle alone without a solid lead, that was for sure.

She was smart. Though Yuuri had never expected her _not_ to be.

“It’s the old HQ,” Mari explained as she rolled her neck in a series of quiet _pops_ that made Minako cringe. Her voice was tight as she continued. “It got all messed up after _Beloved_ blew out a few walls, then doubled back to wipe out the entire graduating class.”

Yuuri looked at the buildings, at the gates, and tried to imagine the yard in shambles and littered with bodies—young ones. _“God,”_ he murmured.

“After that, things got buckled down tight. I was only allowed out and around because I was Minako’s and she lived in Hasetsu. The aged-out pairs are under our protection now, at the college. And it took more than ten years to get Lilia to agree to that much.”

Minako glanced at her. “She wants what’s best for us,” she murmured. “Lilia’s a good woman. A strong woman. She’s been through a lot and just wants us all to be safe.”

Mari faded into silence, but the defensive set of Minako’s shoulders remained. Yuuri got the idea that it was one of the few things they did not quite see eye to eye on.

But they were inside, at least. Minako parked the car and Mari clambered out, Yuuri right after her. His breath fogged in the mountain air, and he struggled back into his jacket to ward off the chill. He wished it had been possible to bring Victor’s instead.

Yuuri followed them through a lobby that looked much like a hotel, high ceilings and intricately patterned tile floors, back through carpeted hallways with doors in lines on either side.

“These are the dorms,” Mari answered by way of explanation. “Anyone named and unmatched is still required to stay. It’s all arranged via scholarship and grants, of course. And by that, we mean that the Seven Voices foots the bill. Alumni contribute generously to keep the next generation going. We pay it forward to keep the little ones safe.”

Yuuri hurried to keep up with their synchronized strides as they emerged at the end of the hallway, through a series of twists and turns until the halls opened up—wide windows spilling light, doorways that led to classrooms instead of cramped dormitories. There were a lot of desks—Yuuri couldn’t imagine that many young Fighters and Sacrifices to fill them. What were their names? What was it like here? Would he have liked it? If he’d been involved in this, would he have found Victor sooner?

“We were waiting for your name to appear before you got the summons,” Minako said as she glanced back and saw the torn expression on Yuuri’s face. His ears twitched as his curiosity was laid bare. “I would have arranged for you to stay in Hasetsu with our family unless we’d found your match at the Academy, but. Well.”

“It never showed up,” Yuuri filled in. He swallowed, and took in the area around him. “So what now, then? How can I start if I don’t know who I am, who my partner is?”

“There’s no reason we can’t train your command instincts and teach you the rules,” Mari said consideringly. “There’s never been a blank Sacrifice before.”

“Yuuri is not a blank Sacrifice,” Minako replied with an idle frown. “His name has been delayed for some reason. Some people have it from birth. Some people get it at puberty. I don’t know what Yuuri’s is waiting for, but he has the ability.” She turned her attention back over her shoulder to him. “You’ve always been a tiny little ping at the edge of my radar, and I know once it shows up for real, we’ll see what you’re capable of.”

Yuuri didn’t know what he was capable of. This wasn’t his area of expertise, his field of study. He supposed only time and experience would tell, and hoped like hell that more time would bring more answers.

Specifically, the kind of answers Lilia Baranovskaya could give.

As they passed through the school hallways, Yuuri saw no one. The effect was unsettling. He peeked into classrooms in the search of other people—to no avail. “Where is everyone?” He muttered.

“It’s Sunday,” Minako answered, and when she turned her smile on Yuuri, it grounded him somehow. Minako always knew what to say. “Sunday is a break day. They’re probably all outside or in their rooms, or wandering around town. It’s a closed campus to outsiders, but students can come and go during the day if they want to. It’s a school, not a jail.”

Indeed, as they emerged through a heavy door and into the bright sunlight, Yuuri found a courtyard strewn with students—some with ears, some pairs without. Not all of their names were visible, but enough were.

Enough that Yuuri felt a sinking in his stomach and an aching sense of loneliness and displacement.

But they looked happy—they looked _normal._ Chattering and smiling and listening to music, some bickering and chasing each other. There were kids as young as elementary-school age, ears perked with interest as they shadowed older students; young teens with their twitching tails and heads bend together. High school aged kids, too, and a fair number of them were matched up and paired off, ears missing, lingering close to their bonded with tender touches and linked fingers.

Yet another place where Yuuri would have been an outlier. Isolated and alone, unable to relate. For once, he was _glad_ that Mari and Minako had tried to keep him in the dark. He wasn’t sure if he would have been able to bear growing up alone and knowing what he was missing, being surrounded by it all the while.

They crossed the courtyard and drew curious glances—and then raucous welcomes. It seemed everyone recognized Mari and Minako, and they were greeted with smiles, raised hands, shouted _hello_ s.

“You’re well-known,” Yuuri said in surprise.

“Everyone knows Minako,” Mari answered with a smile as they were delayed yet again. She shuffled Yuuri off to the side, watching with fond eyes as a gaggle of kids scampered up to Minako, asking her advice or her approval on something or another. Minako was gracious, smiling and approachable, the very way Yuuri remembered her being when he was young. Though she was a tough instructor in his experienced years, when he had been a beginner, she had always been understanding and gentle and kind. He’d idolized her, as had Mari. It seemed some things didn’t change. “She’s had a hand in introducing matches that she picked up on before their names appeared, and Lilia trusts her. She’s been here since before we were born, part of the actual Seven Moons.”

Yuuri blinked slowly as Minako smiled and waved the kids off, excusing herself as best she could as she headed back to them.

She was—?

Yuuri ticked off on his fingers. “Minako, Lilia…”

Mari nodded and followed along with him. “Most of the old Seven passed on their titles after _Beloved._ Ritsu left after _Beloved_ gored his eyes out, and Nagisa followed him. Nana gave up her seat to Minako, but she still works heavily with Lilia on decryption. Chouma abdicated to her brother Kio a few years back. He helps with the intake of new students here at school, since he’s really good with the kids. Other than that, there’s Celestino Cialdini and Nathalie Leroy in the North American faction.” Her nose wrinkled. “Yakov Feltsman in Russia.”

Yuuri frowned, and his ears twitched. “That leaves one.”

Mari shuffled her feet. A dark look crossed her face and smoothed over in record time. “Aoyagi.”

Yuuri stilled. _“Seimei?”_

Mari shook her head, the blonde tips of her hair fluttering in the wind. “No. His brother, Ritsuka. _Loveless._ ”

Minako finally found her way back to them as a chill went down Yuuri’s spine. His ears folded down, and he wasn’t sure whether or not it was due to the cold. “That’s a horrible name.”

“Our names are our fate,” Minako said, though it was clear she wasn’t quite sure what she was walking into. She leveled a questioning look at Mari, and got a muttered _Loveless_ in reply. Minako heaved a sigh, running her hand back through her hair. “Oh. Yeah, Ritsuka. God. Some fates are better than others.”

Yuuri followed as Minako started toward another building across the courtyard, hot on her heels. His curiosity begged to be sated. “Why? What happened to him?”

“In the wind,” Mari replied. “Not that I blame him for running after all the fucked up stuff he went through. We can’t give up his seat without his consent, and we’re pretty sure Kio knows where he went, because Kio’s probably Soubi’s only friend in the world, and where Ritsuka goes Soubi goes.” She _tsked_. “Poor kids.”

“Agatsuma’s older than you,” Minako reminded her. Minako sent Yuuri a fond look as he crept up on her other side. “Ritsuka was about your age, Yuuri. A little older. You would have liked him. He was quiet, whip-smart. And his name didn’t show up either, like yours. That’s why I want to talk to Lilia about this. To make sure there aren’t any… extenuating circumstances.”

She held open the door of the next building, letting Mari and Yuuri file in before her. The halls were narrow here, with high ceilings crosshatched with metal beams. It was nearly as cold inside as it was outside, and there was a faint whirring noise that Yuuri could not place.

_Extenuating circumstances?_

But before he could ask, Minako was winding them through claustrophobic hallways, and that whirring and buzzing was growing louder. And then—

—a wall of glass, looking in on a room full of servers. A _huge_ room.

“This is the reason why we’ve stayed on the map all this time,” Minako said with an unreadable expression. “Goura has always been the central hub of the Seven Voices databank and intranet. When _Beloved_ almost wiped us out, this was what he was after, and he was smart enough to get it.”

“But…” Yuuri’s brain slowed to a halt. He felt confused and vaguely sick, and did not think when he said, “I thought _you_ had the data.”

Minako turned slowly, with sharp eyes. “What?”

Mari’s frown echoed her. “How do you even know about the data?”

Yuuri swallowed the sudden lump in his throat that was steadily crushing his heart. “I, uh. Was talking to Phichit about my name. Asking questions. I—”

“Or it would seem that Yakov has crushed Victor’s sense of finesse,” said a voice from behind them, female and stern and exasperated and Yuuri knew before he turned who it belonged to. “Tell me, did he ask you where to find me in your first conversation? No subtlety, no delicacy? I had hoped he would fare better than Yakov’s bullheadedness.”

Yuuri rounded on her and tried to bite back his snarl, knowing this was neither the time nor place (and indeed, neither the _person)_ to reveal himself to. Lilia Baranovskaya had been a silhouette on the edge of his life for far less time than she’d lingered for Victor, and all Yuuri could do was see what kind of woman had haunted him thusly.

For one, she was tall, nearly as tall as Victor himself. She was more narrow in the shoulders, but bore the same slender and toned physique. Dark hair pulled back in a severe bun, accenting highlighted cheekbones like cut glass. Bottle-green eyes, thin lips, narrow and shapely brows. Beautiful, but in a way Yuuri rarely encountered. He thought she might look less intimidating if her ire weren’t turned toward him.

She wore a form-fitting black ensemble that only made her look like a spectre under the florescent lights—a dancer’s outfit. She had no jacket, but didn’t seem to be cold. Her arms crossed over her chest in consternation, and where her sleeves were rolled up around her elbows, Yuuri could see a band of letters wrapped around her forearm, only just slightly paler than she.

_Weightless._

So this was her. And this was what she thought of Victor.

Yuuri grit his teeth and ducked his head, and took the out she had offered in her inaccurate assumption. With his ears folded down, he was sure he looked contrite. “I didn’t even know who you were,” Yuuri answered in a misleading half-truth. “I didn’t know anything until recently.”

Mari shuffled. She scoffed behind him, and Yuuri didn’t have to see her face to hear her derision. “No delicacy is right. He cornered Yuuri when he was alone.”

Yuuri swallowed thickly. “He was looking for you.”

Minako stepped forward and laid her hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. Quietly, so quietly, she said, “You never told us that.”

“Doesn’t matter, he found you, and you beat him. He’s gone.” Yuuri straightened and squared his shoulders, determined not to speak of it anymore. “And I found out what I found out. Now I’m here.”

The heels of Lilia’s boots clicked against the concrete floors as she approached. Yuuri’s ears flattened as she circled him, looking him over. She finished her circuit in front of him, eyes sharp as she inspected his form. Yuuri raised his chin, and though his ears quivered, he didn’t care if he looked unnerved. He was. That didn’t matter.

What was more important was standing his ground.

Lilia was taller than him. She peered down through her lashes. “Why _are_ you here?”

Yuuri gazed steadily back. “When I asked Phichit how he found his Fighter, he said he met Seung-gil here, because of you.” Yuuri lowered his eyes, though kept his head high. “He’s happy. Mari and Minako are happy. I… haven’t been. But I think I’d like to be.”

A vein in Lilia’s temple twitched. She pursed her lips. “Finding your Fighter is only one part of a larger world. The rest is work. Hard work. The most beautiful part of your life will be entrenched in pain and sweat and tears. If you don’t realize this, you will never be strong.”

Yuuri’s ears perked. He squared his shoulders in reply, and looked at Lilia. Really looked.

There were shadows underneath her eyes that were masked by faint brush strokes, concealer and liner and contour and highlight to make her look as put-together as she did. Her hair was shiny and dark, like Yuuri’s own, but at her temples was the faint hint of silvery roots—a marker of her age that Lilia likely dyed over religiously. Though the skin on her face looked young, her hands were more bony and wrinkled. They were not hard with years of physical labor, but they certainly showed the years she had lived.

For the first time Yuuri wondered if, in all this time since Lilia had left Yakov and Victor behind, she had been alone. Oh, surrounded by others and students and Mari and Minako and the Seven Moons as colleagues, sure—but ultimately set apart.

She and Yuuri had that in common.

“I’m not afraid,” Yuuri answered.

He felt Mari shift behind him. He wondered what Minako saw when she looked at Yuuri and Lilia now. But Yuuri’s tail twitched slightly and he took a deep breath, took a step back. Arms set at his sides, Yuuri bowed. He could feel his glasses sliding down his nose, but he did not raise himself.

“Even if I never find my Fighter, please teach me what you know,” Yuuri said. “This is a part of me. It’s who I am, I know it.”

Lilia didn’t say anything at first. The silence stretched. Yuuri’s back ached, but he held himself still.

“Stand,” Lilia finally said. “That will do terrible things to your posture.” Yuuri stood. Her gaze on him was assessing, one manicured finger tapping her perfectly painted lips. “If you’ve been Minako’s student, that makes you worth my consideration. Your sister is a gifted Sacrifice. Strong command. I won’t deny that I find it strange you’ve never found your match.”

Yuuri’s eyes lowered to her bond. He wondered how she had written it on Yakov Feltsman, since he had not been born with it.

Would that be Yuuri’s fate? He had been told that blank Sacrifices didn’t exist, but—

“I wondered about that—knowing what we know about why some names might not appear,” Minako said quietly as she set herself at Yuuri’s side. She shared a long look with Lilia that flickered to Yuuri and back.

Lilia’s expression flickered with something like pity. Yuuri’s ears lowered.

He didn’t like the sound of that.

“We can’t be certain,” Lilia replied. “Not until the algorithm is decrypted. Seimei buried it deep, but we’re close. I know we’re close.” She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of her nose. Abruptly, she shook her head, shook herself out of it. She turned her back. “Never mind that now. Minako, I think a demonstration is due for your protege. I’d like you to initiate combat with _Weariless._ ”

Mari snorted as they followed Lilia back down the halls. “You want us to beat Emil down in front of his little sister?”

Minako huffed softly. “We won’t be _beating down_ Emil. He and Mickey are worthy opponents. Casual spar, Lilia?”

“That’d be best. I know you have to go back this evening. No need to tire yourself out needlessly.”

Yuuri’s tail twitched as he trotted alongside to keep up. “You’re not talking about Emil Nekola?”

“And Michele Crispino,” Minako answered easily, smiling to herself. “They each transferred here two years ago and matched. They preferred our facilities to Russia. No wondering why.”

“There is no love lost,” Lilia agreed, brusque. Her heels clicked as she walked in long, graceful strides. “There’s rumors of attempts to reopen the European Academy, but as I am not exactly in communication with the rest of the Seven, I don’t know how true that might be. In the meantime, many of the young ones are delegated between North America and Russia. Many of the Eastern locations go to Minako—and by extension, myself.”

“You stay under the radar,” Yuuri said.

Lilia spared him a short glance over her shoulder, assessing. “Yes. My services were needed in cryptology here to undo damage rendered by _Beloved_. After a time, I found myself unwelcome at home. I remade my life here. That is all you need to know.”

Yuuri considered the words, weighed them carefully. They were all fast approaching the door to the outside, and he wanted to say something before they were in full view of Lilia’s students.

“They’re looking for you.” Yuuri swallowed. “I—why?”

“Yuuri,” Minako scolded. “That’s none of your business.”

Yuuri came to a stop. After a few steps, they turned to face him.

He didn’t understand. “They made it my business,” Yuuri bit out, the words a bitter lie on his tongue. “When they… _attacked_ me.”

Lilia’s hands folded behind her back. She looked more like a soldier than a dancer. She raised her chin and stared at Yuuri.

There was a flicker of hurt in her face.

But then she answered.

“Yakov Feltsman was assigned to me by the Seven Moons after my true Bonded passed away. We got along quite well.” She pursed her lips. A flash of fond softness was smoothed over before Yuuri could be sure it had existed at all. “But after a time, a rift grew between us. When Nana and Minako asked me here to decrypt Beloved’s wretched mess, things were uncertain. Traps had been laid for any who interfered. I was out of contact for far longer than I expected. When the pitfalls had been removed from the code and my access to the network unlocked, I discovered I had received a message instructing me not to return. I was exiled from my home.”

Lilia’s eyes narrowed. Minako was staring at Yuuri like she couldn’t believe his audacity. Mari did not look at him at all. Her jaw was set in an unpleasant fashion, a look of deep and uncomfortable contemplation on her face.

Lilia sniffed with disdain. “Victor was raised for the remainder of his years by a man who holds no regard for the bond between Fighter and Sacrifice. As such, he is impulsive, stubborn, and selfish. He is also the most gifted Fighter I have ever trained. But he clashes with his Sacrifice due to a lack of empathy and patience. He can assume no point of view except his own. He will never win against a bonded pair who love and trust one another. And without the knowledge he seeks to gain with victory, he will never find me here.”

_Impulsive, stubborn, and selfish._

_Lack of empathy and patience._

_Can assume no point of view except his own._

**_Lies._ **

Yuuri’s lip curled. His ears flattened to his skull. He clenched his hands tightly, his nails biting into his palms, and he said nothing, though all he wanted to scream was _you don’t know him at all._

Taking his silence for subservience, Lilia turned away from him. “I wish a kinder fate for you.”

She opened the door to the courtyard. The light was blinding.

By the time Yuuri’s eyes adjusted, his hands were stained with red.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As "Best Stuff First" is still wrecking activity levels, please [reblog this chapter!](http://maydei.tumblr.com/post/168082834917/title-fated-pairing-victuuri-victor) You guys have been magnificent with the last few and I love reading your tag commentary. It makes me all warm and fuzzy inside. 
> 
> Until next time..... :D


	11. Weariless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Relentless_ vs. _Weariless_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your continued support. Thank you as always to Rae and Robbie for your enthusiasm and encouragement, and everyone else for your kind messages. I'm having a bit of a rough time emotionally right now and your responses are the best part of my week. I love you all.
> 
>  

 

 

 

Yuuri’s sour mood persisted, a bitter undercurrent even as they were welcomed back by enthusiastic students. This time, Yuuri was introduced to them properly, Mari and Minako warm at his back. The young ones looked upon him with huge eyes and swishing tails, taking in the strange sight that was Mari’s adult brother with ears just like them.

Yuuri tried not to be too sharp with them. Within minutes, the little ones really did calm his nerves. Yuuri loved kids, and seeing their inquisitive expressions lessened the sting of childish limbs marked by silver names, young ones who already knew their fate before it had begun.

It made Yuuri remember why he’d never liked the idea of fate in the first place. To think that those fledgling lives would never know true freedom, know the power of their own choices, know what it was to control their own lives and know their mistakes were their own, that nothing was predestined and every opportunity was possible–

It seemed a waste, was all. Surely established personalities made better pairs: those that knew what it was to be their own person, knew how to exist without the constant company of a lover or a friend. Wouldn’t stronger parts make up a more powerful whole? Yuuri could only imagine that allowing pairs together so young might not only foster youthful discord, but encourage unhealthy codependency.

Yuuri wanted to say as much, but before he could manage to do so, a young man approached with shaggy blonde hair and a trimmed goatee, settling his hands on the shoulders of one of the aforementioned children. The girl, with a honey-gold bob and a silky pair of ears, grinned brightly at him, and then at Yuuri and Mari and Minako.

“Emil says you’re gonna spar!” She said enthusiastically. “Did Miss Baranovskaya really approve it? I thought you didn’t fight students.”

“Only when they’re _really_ good,” Minako said kindly, with a conspiratorial grin over the girl’s head toward her brother.

Emil returned it with a self-deprecating but good-natured smile, thankful for Minako’s small mercy. The young girl chattered even as Emil let up on her shoulders and nodded in a silent gesture for Yuuri to follow.

Yuuri did.

Emil was a friendly-looking guy with a welcoming smile that, despite Yuuri’s mood, set him at ease. Though tall and broad shouldered, Emil slouched in a casual way that belied his easygoing nature, hands tucked in the pockets of his gray sweatshirt, layered over a screen-printed band shirt. His pants seemed to fit his waist, but were baggy in the legs.

Emil hadn’t been one of Yuuri’s students yet, but they’d met by nature of both being friends with Phichit. Emil was a freshman this year, if Yuuri remembered correctly. If he was really partnered with Michele Crispino, Yuuri wondered what he would do—Michele, and by extension his twin sister Sara, were slated to graduate at the end of the year.

How did two halves go about living apart?

“My sister,” Emil said, gesturing with his chin toward the girl. His expression was warm, fond. “Danika would steal Minako away in a heartbeat if she thought she could manage it.”

Yuuri took in the pairs of eager eyes, all fixed on Minako. “Yeah, I’m getting that feeling from a lot of people here.”

Emil laughed a little. “Minako’s a hero to a lot of these kids. She has our respect. Mari too, of course. But Mari tends to be tougher on them—wary respect.” Emil kicked idly at a bit of gravel. “When they get older, they learn how tough Minako can be. They’re both named _Relentless_ , after all. Not just Mari.”

Yuuri nodded once. He gave Emil a speculative glance. “And you’re _Weariless?”_

Emil nodded in return. His hair bounced with the movement of his head. “Mickey and I, yeah. What’s your name?”

Yuuri knew Emil wasn’t asking for his birth name.

His ears lowered as he shoved his hands into his pockets, a lingering feeling of despair chilling him to his core. Yuuri tried not to shiver. “I don’t have one.”

Emil’s mouth opened into a tiny _o_ of surprise. “Really? I just thought it was somewhere we couldn’t see. You don’t have one at all?”

Yuuri shook his head. His tail wrapped around his leg. “No. It’s just me, I guess.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Emil replied with a frown. The expression dropped when he looked aside, spotting a tan, red-haired figure that Yuuri recognized as Mickey. Emil raised a hand in greeting with a peaceful, placid smile—all worry gone, smoothed over by the presence of his bonded.

Yuuri could nearly _see_ the tie that stretched between them, a single shining thread that strengthened as they grew closer. It lingered at the edge of his peripheral vision, but when he turned his head, there was nothing there at all.

It unsettled him. Yuuri frowned as Michele drew closer. “What made you think I have one at all?” he asked Emil.

“Well, I’ve always been able to sense you—not quite like a bonded pair, of course. But I knew what you were. Phichit knew what you were. He told me not to mention it, that you didn’t like to talk about it.” Emil, for all his good nature, was sharp. His eyes settled on Yuuri. “I’m guessing you didn’t know about Phichit, though, and that he was protecting you until you figured things out. You’ve looked different the past few days. More settled. It suits you.”

They could sense him? All this time, had _everyone_ known but Yuuri?

He grit his teeth and forced a smile. He felt like he was going to explode.

“You’re upset,” Emil fished with a sympathetic glance. “It’s okay, you know. It’s hard being alone. It’s all worth it once you find your match, I promise. I woke up one day planning on asking to go to the Academy in Russia, and when I opened my mouth, I said _Japan_ instead. I kicked myself about it for weeks. And then I got here, and then I met Mickey, and everything made sense. Your bond will draw you together. It just does. It might take a while, but it’ll happen. It’s why I wasn’t surprised when Danika followed me. She’ll find someone here, too.”

Yuuri didn’t have time to come up with an answer before Mickey ground to a halt in front of them, bright eyes on Yuuri as he linked hands with Emil. He looked Yuuri up and down. “Didn’t think I’d see you here, Katsuki. Finally decided to get involved in all of this?”

Yuuri’s teeth felt like fangs in his mouth—too sharp, too large, aching to bite and draw blood. He felt too large for his own skin.

Emil punched Mickey lightly in the side. “He didn’t know. Leave him be. Are you ready for this?”

The expression of rude disbelief was quickly replaced by one of resignation. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

Yuuri’s nostrils flared. His ears flickered forward, feeling the tension in Mickey’s gaze where it settled on Minako and Mari. Yuuri turned his head to look, and found them watching the pair in return, shoulder-to-shoulder. Danika had backed off into the crowd, her vibrant belief in her brother shining on her face.

She would be disappointed.

Yuuri flexed his fingers, unsure of where the thought had come from, exactly—though he knew he wasn’t wrong. Victor was a skilled Fighter, and even he’d been bested by Mari and Minako. There was really no reasonable comparison for a bonded pair with that much experience.

It showed on Mickey’s face that he knew the same, as well.

“Let’s square up,” Emil said with his ever-present smile. He nudged Mickey with his shoulder. “We got some restraints in on them last time. Don’t look so glum.”

Mickey huffed through his nose and cast Emil a sidelong glance. “I don’t like you getting hurt for sparring’s sake.”

“We’ll never get better if we don’t practice.” Emil started walking, guiding Mickey by the hand. The crowd of students parted, drawing back to give the pairs ample space. Yuuri followed the little ones and did the same.

He had seen Victor’s magic, of course. That much wouldn’t come as a surprise to him.

But a spell battle, a _real_ one—he couldn’t deny he was curious.

The unsettled feeling in his gut grew deeper, and Yuuri grew more frustrated with it by the minute. There was no good reason, aside from his own irritation, but he could usually control it, so why _couldn’t_ he?

“I declare this to be a battle of spells,” Mari said smoothly. Her chin was held high as she stepped forward, hair pushed back, Minako poised and beautiful and fierce-looking at her shoulder. “The terms are thus: combat to full restraint for the purpose of training. We will test your progress in spellwork and the strength of your bond, and deliver an assessment accordingly. Do you accept?”

Emil’s hand lingered in Mickey’s as he stepped forward in return, holding on until the very last moment when their connection broke.

The air crackled. It made the hair on Yuuri’s neck raise with the potential, the _power._

“We accept,” Emil said.

Mari nodded. She looked pleased. She looked fierce.

Minako stepped around Mari then, standing protectively in front of her. Mickey did the same for Emil, his fingers twitching at his sides.

 _“We are Relentless,”_ Minako said, and _oh_ —Yuuri had never heard her sound like that before, but it was familiar. He’d heard the same command from Victor just yesterday, hadn’t he? That same… tone. That same force. _“In success or defeat, we will never yield.”_

 _“We are Weariless. We hold our ground and never tire,”_ Mickey replied in a growl.

 _“Engage system,”_ said Minako.

The world burst into light—

_—p i n g—_

—and Yuuri fell to his knees. The sound screamed through his head. His ears flattened and his tail puffed and goosebumps raised on every inch of his body.

It _hurt._

And that distant feeling, that unsettled sensation, erupted into _panic._

 _I’m okay_ , Yuuri said to himself, channeled the words inward to soothe that stone in his gut, the nuclear bomb in his heart. _I’m okay, I’m okay. I’m okay, I promise, I’m okay. We’re okay. We’re okay._

“Yuuri—” he could hear Mari as if from a distance.

“I’m fine,” Yuuri snapped, holding one hand to his human ear, and—okay, clean. No blood. That piercing sound was still echoing, and he was sure he would hear the bells in his head for hours.

He opened his eyes, unsure of when they’d closed, and picked up his glasses from where they’d fallen to the ground. Hopefully they hadn’t scratched. Yuuri put them back on and staggered to his feet on shaky legs.

Across the clearing, Lilia Baranovskaya watched him like a hawk.

Yuuri ducked his head and hunched his shoulders and said, “Don’t hold back on my account. It’s just new, that’s all.”

And that was all the permission Mari needed.  “Minako, attack. Take away their sight.”

Minako sank into a sturdy stance, hands anchored against her belly. _“Raise the dust, a cloud of sand. Blind them.”_ She raised her hands together, and the dirt followed, kicking up in a cloud around Emil’s feet which rose steadily higher until they were concealed from view. It swirled around them in a steady stream, controlled by the casual back-and-forth rotation of Minako’s wrist.

And she looked— _bored._

She was _playing_ with them, Yuuri was suddenly certain. A feinted first move to see what they were capable of.

Yuuri wondered what Mari and Minako could do when they deigned to _try_.

But he knew, didn’t he? After all, Victor’s magic had been impressive, and he and Yuri had been laid to waste. One thing was for certain—in all the years that Mari had bandaged her wounds in the middle of the night, she had grown into something fearsome. Someone formidable.

 _“Wind, dispel the dust.”_ A sudden gust cleared the area, leaving Mickey and Emil visible and even more visibly irritated. Mickey bared his teeth at them, though he lacked a certain ferocity. This was just a spar, after all—though the consequences would be no less severe. “Why are you messing with us?”

Mari grinned. Minako did not turn back to face her, but their expressions were identical.

“Just warming up,” Mari replied casually. She made a show of rolling her shoulders, her neck, cracked her knuckles. “I guess you guys are ready for a little bit more. It’s a good start, you know? You used to struggle with that.”

Emil frowned, reaching out to touch the space between Mickey’s shoulder blades to steady him. “I’m not sixteen anymore. You _know_ what we can do. Don’t mess around.”

Minako answered with a one-shouldered shrug. “If you’d prefer.”

And then she attacked.

_“Sand to glass. Cut them open.”_

The sand kicked up in a wave renewed, the wind whistling as it swirled around their ankles. Tiny sparks of reddened lightning shot through the cloud, molten dust turned to shards with the heat. The air screamed and crackled with energy, with the students’ murmurs, with Mickey’s shout of alarm as they shot toward Emil.

 _“Defend!”_ Mickey commanded, hand held out in front of them. A fine, gossamer barrier of light bloomed from his palm, thin and flexible like a net.

And like a net, Yuuri could see it was full of holes.

“Mickey, fortify!” Emil called, but the call came too late.

When the blood came, it was across Emil’s palms—not Mickey’s. But that was right, wasn’t it? The Sacrifice took the damage, that much was expected. The shackles of light that formed after that were a surprise, clamping tight around Emil’s wrists and anchoring him to the ground.

“Damn it,” Mickey hissed.

“I’m fine,” Emil hollered back. “Don’t get rankled. Focus.”

Yuuri could practically taste the twinge of pain, hot and sharp across his tongue. It lingered in the air as Minako stood tall and proud. This time, her expression showed no pleasure. “Alright?”

 _“Fine,”_ Mickey spat. If he’d had his ears, Yuuri knew they would be laid flat. He got the impression they knew better, had _done_ better in the past. He wondered whether it was his presence that had distracted them, or perhaps the identity of their opponents.

Some students tested better than others.

All the while, Yuuri was observing. Learning.

He’d never realized the bonds Phichit had mentioned were literal.

“Hey. Mickey. Breathe with me.” Emil stepped forward like he meant to go closer, but the chains held him in place.

Okay. Very real, then. At least in the context of whatever universe or _battle system_ they were engaged in. And Mari and Minako hardly looked phased at all.

This was their reality, Yuuri reminded himself. This was the life they’d lived for nearly as long as he’d been alive. His spine straightened with the realization. Mickey and Emil stood no chance.

They were never meant to win.

Yuuri’s ears perked and his eyes lifted, and that was the moment he locked gazes with Lilia. The moment they shared was silent, but she clearly read Yuuri’s perceptions in his expression. She nodded once, subtly enough that none of the students seemed to notice.

Ah. So that was how it was. Well, Yuuri figured, at least Mickey had known from the beginning.

Mickey breathed deeply. Emil’s presence at his back seemed to settle him. Yuuri’s eyes fell to them, away from Lilia, watching. Waiting. He knew how this would end, but that didn’t mean the details in the middle weren’t important.

And then things started moving very quickly.

Mickey’s expression twisted with a snarl. _“Retaliation. Use the remnants against them.”_

Minako was at the ready in an instant, sank low on the balls of her feet. The reddish shards of glass shot in her direction, but she was faster. Light bloomed in front of her, a solid shield where Mickey’s had been weak. _“Refusal. We shall not be harmed.”_

 _“Reiterate!”_ Glass struck the shield with a piercing screech—

 _“Block!”_ —and fell to the ground in a glittering dust.

Mari gave them no time to rest. “Minako, hit them again!”

Minako’s hair whipped around her as she stood, a smile firm on her face, but the energy around her was… pleased. Serene, in a sense. As serene as anyone could be when entrenched in magic, Yuuri supposed.

She liked what she did. Truly enjoyed it. And as Yuuri’s eyes found his sister and her shining eyes, he knew the feeling was not one-sided.

Mickey’s teeth were bared. He took a step backward, just one, and Yuuri saw the moment his shoulders drained of tension. He had moved within reach of Emil’s patient touch. “Concentrate. Wait for an opening.”

 _“No openings,”_ Minako commanded. _“No holes. Barricade them in.”_

Yuuri could not be sure if it was real or an illusion when the ground seemed to break underneath their feet, when mud rose and tightened around one of Mickey’s ankles. His infuriated shout was echoed by Emil’s pained yelp as a corresponding shackle locked tight around his right leg.

 _“Break!”_ Mickey was freed from his restraint, but Emil’s remained. He cast a violet-eyed glare at the chain, and then his eyes whipped to Mari and Minako. The tension in the air was palpable and growing, growing. Where Mari and Minako were alert but unruffled, Mickey was building into a rage. _“Reform! Chains for chains!”_

Minako seemed absently surprised at Mickey’s outright attack, and that was just enough time for his strike to reach Mari. But the glittering chain of light that formed, while bright and shining, was dreadfully thin. It was nothing like the solid restrictions placed on Emil.

Minako frowned, distracted—she took her eyes from the battle to survey the thin but tightly-coiled chain that locked Mari to the ground. Mari, for her part, barely winced. She looked indulgently annoyed, it anything.

“It’s not bad,” Yuuri heard her say, and while she did, he noticed Mickey returning to Emil in the brief respite. His hands were glowing as he murmured, carefully probing at one of Emil’s pinched wrists. He looked frustrated, apologetic. Emil offered a wincing smile and reached out to pat him on the cheek, maybe a little rougher than necessary, as he filled the space between them with quiet instructions. He left a smear of blood behind.

“Are you sure?” Minako asked, and Yuuri’s attention wrenched back to Mari and Minako, standing tall and unbothered in this split-second of time.

Mari shrugged. “You shouldn’t give them too much time to recoup. You know I can handle this.”

Minako’s laugh was quiet enough that Yuuri was sure it did not reach Mickey and Emil. “Am I that obvious?”

Mari snorted. “Of course. Get to it, then.”

As Minako turned, she caught Yuuri’s eyes and quirked a smile. She winked.

When Yuuri looked back at Emil and Mickey, the chains on Emil’s wrists were gone, and Mickey was working swiftly at the one on his ankle.

Even this seemed to surprise Minako. “You’ve been practicing that!” She said with a grin, and bent her knees slightly. “Nice job, boys, that was much faster.”

“I’ll take whatever time I can get!” Mickey called back, and though his voice was tense, he seemed in much better spirits. Emil tapped him on the shoulder, and though Mickey seemed irritated at not having enough time to free him completely, his stormy expression had somewhat smoothed.

“I’ll know better next time. Now you have to work on your _strikes!”_ Minako’s hand shot out, and with it a volley of light. It barreled at Mickey and Emil like a sunshot, but—

“Mickey, send it back!”

 _“Return!”_ Mickey shouted, and just as the ball seemed it would strike him, he spun. The light followed the path of his hands, around him in a loop, and when he forced his palms outward, it was Minako’s own attack that was rocketing back at her.

She laughed once, sharp with shock, and tried to curve out of the way, but the blast caught her in the hip and knocked her back. She snarled with pain, pressing at the place where the light had disappeared. Behind her, a belt of light-made chains encircled Mari’s hips and thigh and bolted her to the ground.

This one was not so feeble. She hissed as the pressure of the shackle forced her to one knee.

“Damn!” Mari said, barking out a laugh. “That was a good move.”

“Are you going to stop taking it easy on us?” Emil called back with a grin, thinking himself victorious.

Minako’s hands clenched. She cast a quick glance back to Mari, but did not turn her attention away from Mickey and Emil. She said nothing.

Waiting, Yuuri realized. For Mari’s approval, Mari’s say-so.

“Yeah,” Mari allowed finally. Then she called over to Lilia. “They’ve already passed, don’t you think?”

Lilia inclined her head, eyes sharp on Mickey and Emil, on Minako’s bruised state, and Mari’s taken knee. “Yes,” she agreed. “They’ve passed.”

Emil and Mickey let out a relieved breath in tandem.

Yuuri was sure Mari had something else in mind. He was even more sure Mickey and Emil wouldn’t like it.

“Then you’ve passed from the Advanced to the Expert level boys. Congratulations,” Minako said. They looked cheerful, until— “But the terms were combat to full restraint. And seeing as you’ve just graduated, it’s time to get serious.”

She took a step back, her gait slightly off-kilter. Yuuri winced—it would be difficult for her to dance if she was badly injured. He didn’t know the extent of how serious battle injuries could get, aside from the minor scrapes and bruises he remembered from Mari’s late-night patch-ups. He hoped it was only bruises this time. Minako was not as young as she looked. Any sort of strain or fracture could put her out of her livelihood.

Minako stood at Mari’s shoulder, her hand carefully placed atop her head. Though Mari’s ears had been gone for over a decade, Minako still traced her fingers through Mari’s mussed, fluffy hair like they were there. Mari leaned her head gently against Minako’s hip, her eyes tearing away from their opponents, like she could already see the bruise. Maybe with the chains she wore, she could feel it.

Yuuri took a deep breath and let it out. What would it be like to share someone’s joy, their pain?  He was starting to think he might know, but—

“Minako,” Mari said softly, and pressed her cheek to Minako’s hip. She looked up at her bonded with both affection and firm resolve. “I want to be out of these bonds. I want to _win._ You’ll give that to me, won’t you?”

Minako’s fingers didn’t stutter in their loving traces through Mari’s blonde-tipped locks. Instead, they circled the place where Mari’s ears had once been and trailed down, over the apple of Mari’s cheek and skimming underneath her jawline. Minako bent swiftly at the waist, and Mari accepted the quick kiss that Minako offered with a private smile.

“I’ll give you anything you’d like,” Minako said with a smile of her own. Her thumb made one more sweep over Mari’s cheek before she inched away, stepped forward, squared off against Mickey with her most severe dancer’s posture, and Yuuri tasted the shift in the air.

Mari’s request was Minako’s purpose.

His hair stood on end. It felt like electricity in the air around him, static, and he could not understand Emil and Mickey’s continued ease when everything felt like a lightning strike waiting to happen. Why weren’t they building defenses? Why weren’t they shirking away? Couldn’t they _feel—_

When Minako lashed out, it clearly came as a surprise to everyone except Yuuri. And, when he met Lilia’s eyes across the courtyard clearing, he knew there was at least one other who had known exactly what would happen.

Lilia inclined her head to him as Minako’s attack ripped from her hands.

 _“Complete restraint!”_ Minako called, and stepped swiftly in multiple horizontal swirls, drifting laterally as she send burst after burst of condensed reddish light. _“Pin him down, lock and key, chains for every limb.”_

Mickey managed to dodge the first with a shout and narrowly avoided the second, but the third, fourth, and fifth hit him in rapid succession. They struck solidly but melted over his limbs, light streaming like paint and staining each point of impact—shoulder, thigh, neck. Bonds erupted from the ground to restrain Emil in all of those places, and Minako was not yet done.

Mickey slowed with whatever pain he felt, and the next series of shots hit him in the chest, bicep, and grazed his jaw.

Behind him, Emil collapsed to his knees under the tension of the restraints, formed of light but holding fast. The scrape and stain on Mickey’s jaw bloomed over Emil’s skin, over his mouth and around his neck—a gag made of light that halted all speech. Emil’s eyes were still bright, still surprised, but also pained. Resigned.

Minako’s quick steps came to a solid halt.

Mickey glanced back at Emil and let out a sound of dismay—not only at their loss, Yuuri could tell, but at the distress and discomfort of his matched.

“Stop. Stop it,” Mickey said, on his knees in the dirt, head ducked in shame as he glanced up to Mari. “You’ve won. It’s done. Please release him.”

Mari, for her part, looked faintly apologetic. But also satisfied. “Do you cede the match?”

“We admit defeat.”

With the words, the chains on Mari shattered and left no remnant behind. She pushed herself to her feet, rubbing her hip with an expression of vague annoyance. Yuuri wondered if her leg was asleep, if the metaphysical bonds were enough to cause lasting discomfort once dispelled.

Minako glanced back at Mari, and Mari nodded. When she turned back, her hands flipped, palm-up and open. Her hands raised as if lifting an invisible weight. _“Release,”_ she commanded, and Emil’s chains of light faded.

Mickey was with him at once, all nervous hands and careful touches, and Minako returned just as swiftly to Mari, though with decidedly less worry. It seemed everyone at once was swarming forward, amazed young students with perked ears and intrigued teenagers with sharp eyes, weighing the potential of their own power against the display they’d just witnessed.

Minako had taken them down in one attack, one _devastating_ attack that Mickey had barely been able to avoid. Had she used the same one on Victor? Had the sunbursts ripped over his skin, did he hiss in pain like Mickey had, did he have bruises Yuuri hadn’t known to look for, how long had he taken to fall under the onslaught—?

Worry and affection flooded him in equal measures, grounded him, and Yuuri’s ears lowered as his vision flickered once with white. He wavered on his feet, uncertain, unsure, and reached out to steady himself.

His hand met Minako’s arm, her worried expression, and everything felt far away as Yuuri sank down, sat cross-legged in the dirt and closed his eyes, focusing on that feeling.

 _You’re okay,_ it said, _are you okay? You’re okay, you are, are you?_

“I’m okay,” Yuuri murmured in reply, and sank his head into his hands.

“Deep breaths, Yuuri,” Minako said, and she sounded distant. “Danika, can you get him some water? Yuuri?”

“I’m okay,” Yuuri repeated. _I’m okay, I’m okay._ _Are you okay?_

 _I’m here_ , the feeling said, though not in so many words. It was comfort and worry and inquiry wrapped into an impression, a nice little bundle of sensation that settled at the back of Yuuri’s mind and flickered there like a flame.

It had never felt so real before. Yuuri had wondered but always dismissed it as exhaustion, as his own mind in its uncertainty, but this felt distinctly _other_ , this felt not exactly _new,_ but reinforced. Stronger than it ever had.

Impressions more than words. Nothing so specific as telepathy, but honest as sensation could be.

Warmth and worry and joy and disbelief and affection and _want_.

_Mine._

And Yuuri lifted his face away from his palms, brow furrowed, confused and hopeful as he turned them over and—

—blank. Both his hands, still blank.

Bittersweet despair.

No. Things could never be so simple.

That comforting flicker persisted, confused but present. Yuuri looked up as another thought struck him. It couldn’t be that—

“Here you go,” Danika said as she handed him a bottle, and Yuuri took it, fingers numb.

He stared at it for a moment, then up at her. He couldn’t be sure if his hands were shaking. It felt like his whole body was shaking. “How do you know?” Yuuri asked.

She stared at him with questioning blue eyes that reminded him of her brother, alarm and concern that reminded him of Victor. “Know what?”

“When you’ve met your soulmate,” Yuuri answered. The world was shivering around him. He thought to listen, but could only hear the impressions of worry in the back of his head.

He wavered. His vision flickered with white once more, and Yuuri wasn’t sure what happened after that.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [rebloggable chapter post](http://maydei.tumblr.com/post/168327542292/title-fated-pairing-victuuri-victor)


	12. Listless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri learns more about the past and finds new fears for his future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, another chapter. Thank you to all of you for your support. Things aren't easy for me right now, and I believe I may need to take a break after this chapter, depending on my emotional state. You all really make a huge difference to me, though, and it means the world that you're still with me after all this time. Thank you <3

 

 

Yuuri came to consciousness on an unfamiliar bed in what smelled very much like a nurse’s office. He pushed himself up on unsteady hands and found himself alone, though there were voices not far away. Familiar ones. 

“Mari?” He rasped, and realized his throat felt like dry cotton. “Minako-sensei?”

A shuffle and scuffle ensued as Yuuri realized the world around him was blurry, though a familiar blue shape was within arm’s reach. He put his glasses on and was pleased to find a glass of water next to them. He was well within chugging it down when Mari and Minako entered with matched swiftness, Lilia and Danika and Mickey and Emil all trailing behind them.

Yuuri went from feeling isolated to mobbed in ten seconds or less. It had to be a new record. 

Mari sat at the end of his bed. One of Minako’s hands settled between Yuuri’s ears, the other gently pressing just under his jaw in the search for his pulse.

“How are you feeling?” Mari asked.

Faintly fuzzy. “Fine,” Yuuri lied absently. And then, more importantly, “Hungry.”

There had been tension in the room that he didn’t notice until it dispelled in entirety. It was like clouds had broken and sun was pouring through, as the minds of all those around seemed to settle with understanding. 

“Oh, Yuuri,” Minako scolded. “How long has it been since you ate?”

Yuuri considered this. A while, but passing out had been unrelated to food. He was sure of that much. 

But maybe it would be better this way. “Yesterday,” he admitted slowly, mind racing. “Um, early dinner, late afternoon.”

“And water?” Mari asked. 

“Yesterday,” Yuuri replied.

_ “Yuuri.” _ And that was Minako again, scolding but relieved. “You scared us. You need to take better care of yourself.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He sat upright with Minako’s hand going from his jugular to his back, supporting him and rubbing comforting, familiar circles with her thumb. Motherly as always. 

“We were worried,” Emil said, and Danika leaned back against her brother with her wide, worried blue eyes and twitching ears. She looked half a second from tears. Emil jostled her with his hands on her shoulders, sparing a glance down. “See, Dani? He’s alright.”

“I hope you feel better,” she whispered. Mickey reached over to place a brotherly, familiar hand between her ears. His family by extension, Yuuri realized. Like Yuuri himself was part of Minako’s by being Mari’s. 

Emil and Mickey were covered in small bandages, palms and wrists and jaws, red marks that had not quite bloomed into the faint lavender of bruises. It couldn’t have been long that Yuuri was out. 

Emil caught him looking and grinned. “We were on our way here anyway. Your sister’s a badass.”

Mickey socked him in the arm, albeit gently. “Stop sounding so cheerful about getting your ass kicked.”

“You got  _ your _ ass kicked,” Emil retorted fondly. “Me, I just stood around and looked pretty.”

“Boys, you’re dismissed,” Lilia said, casting them a stern but indulgent look. “I appreciate your concern, but Mr. Katsuki is fine. Danika, you as well. Good work today. Get your rest; it’s back to work tomorrow.” 

Mickey grimaced. Emil’s smile persisted. “Next lesson is speed, right?”

“And footwork,” Minako answered, sending a wry smile at Mickey. “I hope you’re ready to learn to dance. Your form is way too rigid. You’ll save a lot of energy if you can dodge instead of defend. We’ll work on it.”

“Sounds good to me, Boss,” Emil replied for the both of them. He slung one arm around his bonded, the other around his little sister. “Okay, we’ve taken up enough space. Let’s go. Feel better, Yuuri.”

“You too,” Yuuri answered automatically. He blinked as they shuffled out, met the final seconds of Danika’s persistent worried expression. She should smile, he thought idly. She shouldn’t waste time being worried for him; Danika was too young to be caught up in all this.

But then she was gone, and it was just Mari and Minako and Lilia remaining. Mari’s arms were crossed. Lilia was frowning. 

Yuuri swallowed. 

“Danika said that you asked her something before you passed out,” Minako said quietly.

Oh. Yuuri hoped his grimace wasn’t obvious, and felt his ears flatten. Traitors. “Did I?”

“About how someone knows when they’ve met their soulmate. Their bonded.” Mari looked at him speculatively. “You nearly passed out at the start of the battle, Yuuri.”

Well, no sense in lying about that. Yuuri fidgeted and pulled his tail into his lap, prickling with sleep. He must’ve laid on top of it the whole time he was unconscious. He smoothed his fingers over the fur, soft and glossy black against his fingers. “There was this… sound. But it was a feeling too, I guess.”

“You felt the system initiation?” Minako’s thumb-circles on his back stilled. 

Yuuri tipped his head back to look at her, but she was looking at Lilia. The woman in question was frowning, leaning back against the doorway. One manicured finger tapped at the edge of her mouth. Her eyes were on Yuuri.  “It’s not unheard of for an unbonded Sacrifice to sense the initiation once they’ve been exposed to it.” Still, Lilia’s frown persisted.  _ “Loveless _ once reported something similar, and he was much younger than Yuuri.”

“Yeah, but Loveless was accompanied by a Fighter at the time,” Minako complained. She patted Yuuri on the shoulder. “Yuuri’s singular.”

“Yuuri’s surrounded by Fighters and Sacrifices right now,” Mari cut in. “It’s possible that maybe he’s made contact with his match, and that opened all the channels—so to speak, anyway.”

Minako’s hand twitched. She looked down and met Yuuri’s eyes. “That’s a thought,” she said, though not really to him. Then, “Yuuri, can we look you over? It’s possible you’ve made first contact. With your permission, we can check for your name.”

Yuuri swallowed.  _ No, _ his mind said.  _ If it’s not his, I don’t want it. _

His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. “Is that what makes it show?” Yuuri asked with dread in his heart. “First contact?”

“Not always,” Lilia answered. Her eyes on him were sharp. Yuuri wondered if she could see right through him. If he was as transparent as he felt. “Though it’s usually the case. Proximity is the most common reason, though the draw that pulls you together can happen before that. Have you felt anything similar?”

Yuuri’s hands clenched. He had to remind himself to let go of his tail when the delicate vertebrae twinged in protest at his rough treatment. “No,” he lied. And then, a bit more honestly, “But I don’t know what that would feel like. So I guess I’m not sure.”

“Yuuri,” Mari said. He looked up. Her eyes on him were even, familiar, steady. His sister—the one who had brought him into this in the first place. “Can we check for you?”

Like he had so many years ago, Yuuri nodded. The anxiety of it felt the same.

He stood and pulled out of his sweatshirt with trembling fingers. He set it on the hospital cot and closed his eyes against the chill of the air. He hesitated for only a moment before his shirt followed, and he tried not to feel uncomfortable that Lilia was present. Mari and Minako had seen him in similar states of undress for his whole life, he reminded himself. He trusted them. They trusted Lilia.

Yuuri didn’t know that he should. But aside from two conflicting accounts of the same story, he had no reason not to.

At the very least, he figured he should trust her expertise. 

Shirt and jacket discarded, Yuuri turned around. He felt Mari stand at Minako’s side as he lifted his arms laterally, held away from his waist. 

“Turn,” Mari said, and he did.

His back was bare. Yuuri shivered, and knew his skin would be raised with gooseflesh. He swallowed convulsively. “Anything?”

“No,” Minako answered.

Yuuri tried not to faint with relief. 

“Okay, shirt on,” Mari ordered. “We’ll check your legs.”

But that yielded the same result. He was thankful at least that his sister spared him the embarrassment of standing nude but for his underwear; at least wearing his shirt with his briefs made him feel slightly less exposed, even if his ears laid flat and his tail twitched uneasily all the while. 

Meanwhile, Yuuri thanked every god in existence that Victor hadn’t left any marks. The slightly-hysterical note of laughter was trapped behind his teeth at the thought. 

“Nothing there, either,” Minako said with a vague frown.

Mari seemed to find it humorous. “Well, short of your name being written on your ass, I think it’s safe to say you’re still blank.”

“Thanks,” Yuuri mumbled darkly, and flushed as he struggled back into his jeans. The embarrassment made him unsteady, but luckily they let him wobble in peace. 

No name was better than the wrong name, he tried to tell himself. 

Wrong name. Yuuri closed his eyes. Like he had claim to  _ any _ name at all.

“Don’t let it bother you,” Mari said. When Yuuri was clothed again, she reached out to brush her hand across his shoulder, and Yuuri turned into the touch. She smiled faintly and opened one arm, and Yuuri leaned obligingly into her side. His ears lowered. He didn’t often accept physical comfort. In fact, he wasn’t even sure he wanted it. But it wasn’t quite the suffocating nature of a hug, and it was easy enough to pretend it was for warmth.

Her hand stroking over his hair felt nice. Familial. 

Different from Victor.

“You’ll find them,” Mari murmured, and let her chin rest atop his head. It was a strain with the height difference, but Yuuri was slouching and she was persistent. She won out in the end, even when his ear twitched and tapped her on the cheek. “There’s someone out there for you, Yuuri. There is. I swear.”

He wanted to believe it. He could feel the itch under his skin, the flicker of consciousness that had no concrete emotions behind it right now. Behind  _ them _ .

Someone just for him.

Yuuri closed his eyes. “What if it never appears? If there are no Blank Sacrifices, what do I do if it never shows up?”

“It’ll show,” Minako assured him. She did not sound convincing.

Yuuri did not open his eyes. Sickness churned in his stomach, in his throat, and it burned sour like acid. “What if they’re dead?”

Silence. After a time, Yuuri cracked his eyes open, and was glad he could not see Mari’s pitying expression as her arm tightened around him. Seeing Minako’s was bad enough.

And Lilia, well… 

Her expression was tight. Her lips were pursed, the lines around her eyes pronounced. Her arms, crossed over her chest, were held close to her body. She said nothing, and neither did anyone else.

...but it wasn’t just pity, was it?

Yuuri’s ears flattened suddenly. He wrenched himself away from Mari’s grip. “What?” he demanded. 

Minako looked away. 

Yuuri’s heart burned cold. He felt like he was choking. “What you said before,” he said, “about extenuating circumstances, and names not appearing—”

“Yes,” Lilia replied.

Yuuri’s legs felt like jelly. He pressed his hand over his mouth and sank down onto the cot, dizzy with dread. 

“Yes.” Her voice was soft as she said it again. “Half an arch cannot stand. If one half dies before they meet, the name may never show at all.”

Yuuri felt his glasses slipping off his nose as he ducked his head. The clatter against the floor was distant as he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes and tried to calm his breathing. “Like  _ Loveless,” _ he said as the pieces clicked into place. “His name was his fate.”

He heard someone’s heavy swallow; thought it might’ve been Mari.

“Some fates are better than others,” Minako said again. The bed drooped as she sat next to Yuuri, though she wisely did not try to touch him. 

“So how did he  _ know?” _ Yuuri demanded. He tried desperately not to collapse. Not to cry. “If he never got his name, if he never met his match—”

“That was before  _ Beloved,” _ Mari answered from somewhere nearby. “When our systems were up, when the Seven Moons could pick Fighters and Sacrifices out of the air before they had any idea what they were. Seimei was…”

“Sick,” said Lilia. Her heels clicked against the tile as she drew slightly closer. “Obsessed with his younger brother. So he used his position of power to abuse his privileges. He found Ritsuka’s match before they could meet and murdered him, and faked his own death using the body he left behind. He scrambled the algorithm to cover his tracks and to find the identity of his true Fighter. He left the Blank Fighter he’d claimed and abused in his brother’s care.”

“Agatsuma,” Yuuri said quietly. “Right? Soubi. The one who ran away with Ritsuka.”

“Yes.”

Yuuri sucked in a deep lungful of breath and let it out, shivering. Tentatively, carefully, Minako laid her hand on his back.

_ Ok? _   that little feeling inquired, and Yuuri nearly sobbed.

He couldn’t be alone. He just couldn’t. This was all the evidence he needed, and if he was crazy, then let him be crazy.

_ Ok, _ he pushed back, and felt a glimmer of something warm. He thought, he  _ hoped _ it might be love.

“But after everything, they’re together, right?” Yuuri said. He breathed. He breathed some more. “Aoyagi and Agatsuma. And they’re happy together. So it doesn’t matter.”

Minako’s hand twitched. No one said anything at all, and after some time, she said, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“So maybe—maybe…” Yuuri swallowed, squeezed his eyes shut, and hoped like hell they were only burning because he’d shut them so tight. When he blinked, his vision was tremulous, the light a formless blur without his glasses. “…maybe it’s okay, then. If they can make a new fate, maybe I can, too.”

“Yuuri.” Minako’s fingers tightened into a fist in the back of his shirt. “Don’t give up. You don’t know for sure that you’re alone.”

“I have been for this long, anyway.” Yuuri held his breath for four seconds and let it out for seven. He breathed deeply again, and no one saw fit to interrupt him. He pressed a hand over his mouth, and felt his ears shiver and lower. “Do you think a person can want something enough to make it theirs?”

Mari drew closer. She set her hand atop Yuuri’s head carefully between his ears and murmured, “Yes. I know you can.”

Yuuri felt more than saw when Minako took her hand. He felt surrounded. Loved.

Lonely as hell.

When Yuuri looked up, he saw Lilia over Mari’s shoulder. The woman’s expression was unreadable, but there was a glimmer in her eyes that reminded him of Victor when he’d first arrived in Hasetsu, with familiar company but emotionally isolated. Maybe Victor had gotten that look from her, one way or another.

Yuuri broke eye contact first; he couldn’t bare to see that expression on  _ anyone’s _ face any longer. “I want to go home,” Yuuri said softly. “Mari, Minako-sensei. I’d like to go home.”

“Ok,” Mari said, her hand smoothing down his neck, settling on his shoulder. She squeezed, an attempted comfort. It felt a little too much like the squeeze in his chest. “Let’s go home.”

They pulled Yuuri to his feet, and Yuuri wobbled where he stood. When he did, Lilia stepped up to face him, arms crossed over her chest. Yuuri steadied himself with Mari’s help and frowned. “Is that a problem?”

“No. You may go,” Lilia said. She did not move. “But I would like you to return. If you do, I will teach you.”

Yuuri’s mouth popped open. His ears swiveled and locked, forward-facing, on her. “Really?”

“You have potential. It would be a waste to let that go untrained.” Lilia’s assessing gaze was sharp, uncomfortable, but Yuuri could feel the edge of familiarity to it now. He could feel the parts of it that belonged to Minako as her mentor; he could feel the parts that belonged to Victor as his adoptive mother. 

To know each of them better, he would have to get to know her. And no matter her past, Yuuri knew a good teacher when he met one. 

She would tell him everything he needed to know, as long as he could be patient.

Yuuri nodded once. Again, more enthusiastically, and didn’t have to force his smile. “Yes. Please. I’d like that.”

Her expression softened minutely—and only just. “You may call me Lilia.” When Yuuri’s ears twitched and he forced down a reflexive grimace, she added, “Or Madame Baranovskaya, if you would prefer. I ask you show your respect with attentiveness and dedication to the techniques you learn. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Madame,” Yuuri answered in all seriousness; even so, he could not fight his smile. 

Something that spoke of amusement and familiarity flickered around the edges of Lilia’s expression, but she had swept away before Yuuri could observe it fully. He figured it was just as well. 

“Minako, please arrange a time to bring Yuuri here again, or I can send Kio to retrieve him. Whichever would be simpler, if you please.”

“Of course, Lilia.”

He was shepherded out between Mari and Minako, led to the car and forcefully sat in the back seat. Mari dug around for a cooler in the trunk, and pushed a foil-wrapped sandwich into his hand. It was an aggressive show of her concern, Yuuri knew—she got a little too stubborn when her worry took her over. Mari filled that need by seeing to the needs of those around her. At times, forcibly.

“Thank you,” Yuuri mumbled, and opened the foil—egg salad on white bread, crust removed. His persistent sense of unease was forced back by a wave of fond nostalgia. Mari had made this sandwich for him countless times as a child, often as a snack when he would come home from Minako’s studio exhausted and sweaty and hissy and  _ hungry _ . It felt much like the same sentiment even now.

“Don’t get crumbs in my car,” Minako replied from the front seat. Yuuri observed but pointedly did not comment that she wasn’t telling him not to eat.

The exhaustion of the day lingered deep in his bones, and Yuuri managed the whole sandwich before he crumbled the foil in his palm. He stretched across the back seat, curled on his side; yet again, he did not have to ask for Mari to dial on the heat.

Yuuri curled one arm under his head, then took his glasses off his nose and hooked the frames into the pouch on the back of Mari’s seat. “I’m sorry,” Yuuri said. “I didn’t mean to cut this short.”

Mari turned to look back at him, then reached out to ruffle his hair. She smiled a little. “Don’t apologize. We didn’t exactly tell you what you were getting yourself into. And I always get tired after I fight, even if it’s just a sparring match. I don’t mind going back a little early.”

Yuuri’s eyes drifted closed, absorbing the sensation of touch. He wished for more of it. He wished for Victor’s hands instead. His tail thumped once against the seats, and he reached to pull it up and over his thigh, the silky fur soft between his fingers. “So when will I come back?” Yuuri asked. “To train with Lilia.”

“We’ll talk when we get home,” Minako answered. “Try not to worry about it right now, Yuuri. Just rest.”

“Okay.”

The whirring of the wheels against the road was soothing, the sound of the wind outside the car was a lull. Yuuri drifted in and out of consciousness in a liminal, listless state, neither awake nor asleep. His body felt heavy, drained, and he could not move. 

But after a time, he heard Mari’s whisper: “You don’t really think his Fighter is dead, do you? After all this time—I promised him he’d find them.”

“I don’t know what to believe,” Minako answered, so quietly Yuuri almost did not hear her. “Part of me hoped he’d meet them today. That he’d walk in and see them and  _ know. _ I don’t know what else to try now that he hasn’t.”

Mari was quiet for a while more. Yuuri continued to drift. 

“You said that Nikiforov—”

“We haven’t sensed them again,” Minako reminded Mari tersely. “And he’s meant to be matched already.”

“They didn’t mesh.”

“Some pairs handle it better than others.”

“The kid didn’t have the name. You know he didn’t,” Mari argued.

Yuuri’s eyes cracked open, the slightest bits of light filtering through his lashes. Shapes were indistinct, unformed. Still, he could see it as Minako reached across the center console to link her hand with Mari’s between their seats. The air around him radiated concern. Comfort.

“Neither does Yuuri.”

Yuuri wished he were asleep. He wished he’d never heard this at all. 

He wished he was home.

“Yuuri would tell us if he’d seen them,” Minako continued softly. “You know him. He would.”

“Yuuri’s been surprising me a lot lately.” It didn’t sound entirely complementary. If anything, Mari sounded worried. 

“He’s still Yuuri. He’s still your brother.”  That much was true. Yuuri didn’t want to hurt them, he didn’t want to hurt  _ anyone, _ but neither did he want Victor to hurt—

“I know. I just… I want him to find someone. I want them to be good for him. I want him to be happy, like we are.” Mari leaned over the center console and rested her face against Minako’s arm, her forehead pressed against the letters of the name they both shared. 

“He will,” Minako answered. “Give it time.”

“Like Yuuri’s given it time?” Mari replied without heat. She sounded tired. “How much more time until we give up?”

Minako was silent for a time. Then she said, “He could be like I was, just waiting for you to come along. Or maybe his Matched is somewhere else. North America? Yuuri always used to talk about studying there. Maybe—”

Yuuri tuned them out. His eyes shut again. It didn’t  _ matter _ where his Matched was. He knew who he wanted, and outside of the name appearing on the back of his hand, wrist to ring finger, he had no interest in anyone else. 

If he couldn’t have Victor, he didn’t want anyone at all.

 

* * *

 

When he awoke again, Yuuri panicked.

They were parked in front of the onsen, Mari and Minako shuffling in the front seat. 

Yuuri shot bolt upright, wavering with dizziness as he jammed his glasses back onto his face, scrambling to gather his belongings and  _ praying _ that Victor and Yuri would have the good sense to stay out of sight. Maybe he could convince Mari and Minako not to come in.

“I thought I was gonna walk,” Yuuri said, and swallowed hard at the waver in his voice. It would be no good to lose his cool now. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, ears low and trembling with the force of his nerves. 

“After you passed out in Goura? I don’t think so,” Mari answered. “We can drop you off. It’s the least we can do for stealing your weekend.” 

Yuuri budged toward the side door. “Yeah, ok. Thank you for the ride—”

“Yuuri.”

He froze. He turned his best innocent expression on Mari and Minako, who eyed him surreptitiously. 

“What’s going on?” Minako asked.

“I just—” Yuuri bit the inside of his cheek. His tail twitched. He lowered his head. “I still don’t feel quite right, I just want to go inside and do my work and sleep. But if you come in, Mom will want me to stay up and socialize and… I don’t think I’m up for that tonight. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude.” Yuuri’s shoulders inched up toward his ears, waiting to be scolded. “Maybe another time?”

That seemed to appease Mari, who leaned back in her seat. Minako turned a glance to her, then back to Yuuri. Her response was more hesitant, but not disagreeable. “Well, we  _ did _ have quite the day… I didn’t really expect the spar with  _ Weariless _ to take as much out of me as it did.”

“I could use a rest,” Mari agreed easily. “And I know you have grading to get done, Yuuri.”

Yuuri nodded. In the back of his mind, he felt a spark of worry. He rubbed at the center of his chest like it could alleviate the nervous flutter. 

Minako nodded back slowly, considering. “Alright. Though I still expect you at practice tomorrow, okay? Missing two days in a row is bad enough.”

“Yeah, of course. Thank you, Minako-sensei.” Yuuri dipped his chin a little lower. “Sorry again for cutting things short.”

“These things happen,” Minako replied with a smile. “Just take care of yourself. We’ll make more plans tomorrow, okay?”

“Mm-hm.” Yuuri popped the door open and offered a wave. “Thank you for the ride. See you at practice.”

“Have a good night, Yuuri.”

“Night, little bro!”

Heart in his throat at the narrow escape, Yuuri made his way through the gate and toward the entryway, grateful to the flood of warmth as he stepped into the onsen, and—

—someone grabbed him by the hand and pulled him inside quickly, around the corner and into the stairwell before Yuuri could even fully don his house slippers. Yuuri’s back met the wall (albeit with little force) and he only had the barest second to take in the flash of blue eyes before his lips were stolen in a frantic kiss. 

Yuuri’s hands found Victor’s hair in a second, winding his fingers through the strands to hold him close. The slick swipe of Victor’s tongue against his lower lip was swiftly followed by the bright sting of teeth. Yuuri parted for him easily, without hesitation, tail twitching and curling at the weight of Victor’s body pinning his, purring his pleasure at Victor’s leg between his own. The light was dim behind his eyelids, so much like their evenings in the dark, but this was a stairwell and anyone could walk by, and—

Yuuri forced himself to open his eyes, to tip his head to the side to break from Victor’s kisses. He could still taste Victor in his mouth, feel his warmth, feel his heart thundering against Yuuri’s own. “Vitya.”

“I’m sorry,” Victor murmured against his cheek, nuzzling and nosing and breathing unevenly. “I’ve just, I’ve had such a bad feeling all day, and now you’re back, and I know that was  _ Relentless _ outside and I don’t know how they didn’t sense me too, but I don’t even  _ care.  _ I was so worried, Yuuri. Tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m okay. I am.” Yuuri’s fingers tightened in Victor’s hair and guided him back, stole another quick kiss that turned into two and three and four and Victor’s tongue sliding in alongside his own. Yuuri’s knees were shaking, and if it wasn’t for the wall at his back holding him up, he thought he might start to slide down. He came up with the most plausible explanation he could—primarily, but not entirely, the truth. “Mari and Minako picked me up and gave me a ride back. I convinced them not to come in. You’re safe.”

“Yes, I know  _ I’m _ fine, that’s not the point.” Victor’s face pressed into Yuuri’s hair, nosing at his temple and up, up, lips brushing Yuuri’s ear, which twitched fiercely. His voice dropped to something quiet, wretched. “I just had this  _ feeling _ , Yuuri. I’ve never felt anything like that before. It was like I  _ knew  _ you were in danger but I didn’t know where to find you. And I sent you text messages but you didn’t reply—”

Yuuri blinked slowly, stricken. “I must’ve been out of range, and then I fell asleep on the way home. I didn’t mean to worry you. I was okay, I just… I got a little lightheaded and passed out—”

_ “Yuuri—” _

“I’m okay.” His hand fell to the nape of Victor’s neck, rubbing tiny circles at the base of his skull through the curtain of his hair. Victor huffed, indignant, even as he melted into the touch. His forehead connected solidly with Yuuri’s shoulder and tucked into the curve of his neck. He gently worried at Yuuri’s pulse point with his teeth, nibbling a tiny stinging mark that Yuuri was sure would flare red, but fade quickly. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted it to.

Victor held him jealously, absorbing every inch of Yuuri’s space and affection and every spark of attention. And then he murmured, “I don’t know why they didn’t sense me. They should have.”

Yuuri swallowed. His fingers continued their smooth path through Victor’s hair, contemplative. “Is Yuri here?”

“No.” Victor wavered slightly. “But that’s never meant anything before. We’ve never had to be together for someone strong to  _ know. _ ”

“Lots of things are changing,” Yuuri murmured, ducking his head forward to press his lips against Victor’s ear in turn, pink and warm and soft against his mouth. He licked his lips instinctively, and Victor’s full-body shudder at the accidental touch was… interesting. Fascinating. Yuuri wanted to do it again, but maybe not here in the stairwell, not with his parents and the patrons milling about. 

But, still. 

When Victor lifted his head, Yuuri reeled him back in. Their kisses this time were softer. Welcoming. Victor sighed into his mouth and whispered, “Okaeri.”

Yuuri’s insides were lit bright like fireworks when he murmured back, “Tadaima.”

“Be more careful next time. Stay closer to cell service, maybe.” Victor pressed his lips to Yuuri’s cheek in a tender touch. 

_ “Don’t go where I can’t follow?” _ Yuuri asked.

Victor’s gasp this time was delighted. When he pulled back, his eyes were bubbling with mirth. “My Yuuri’s a nerd? Amazing!”

When they kissed again, it was through their smiles. It was the best Yuuri had felt all day, the most at peace.

He couldn’t imagine this ever being wrong. 

Victor pulled back, lip bitten between his teeth. His good humor was replaced with something more intimate, more wanting. Beautiful though, as Victor always was. “I know you’re probably hungry. We should get you something to eat. Then, I…”

Yuuri’s heart kicked up to double-time. His ears perked forward. 

Victor’s gaze was just the barest hint  _ shy. _ “I want to spend more time with you. We’ve barely had any to just  _ be _ with each other.”

Yuuri reached for both his hands. When he squeezed them, Victor’s smile was bright enough to light the sky. 

“Yeah,” Yuuri said. “That sounds good to me.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to have an update for you next Friday, but please understand if that isn't possible. You can always check in with me on my [tumblr](http://maydei.tumblr.com) when the time gets closer. See [this post](http://maydei.tumblr.com/post/168468141517/hello-all-i-may-need-to-take-a-short-break-from) for details.


	13. Flawless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri spends time with Victor while battling his own impulses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your support. I'm glad I managed to finish this in time for this week's update, and I'm hard at work on the next. Please keep in mind that I am now caught up to my own writing (damn it, writer's block) and my updates might get slower. However, I'm still working hard, I still love this fic, and I still love all of you. Thank you for all the kind messages, really. They helped inspire me to work harder when I thought for sure I'd miss this week. <3 Happy holidays to all of you, btw! Whatever you celebrate, thank you for being here during this hella busy time of year. 

 

 

The hardest part about being together in public was the distance they were forced to maintain for propriety’s sake. Shoulder to shoulder at dinner, lingering within arm’s reach in the onsen, but never quite touching. It was torture when all Yuuri wanted to do was pull Victor close, crawl into his lap and kiss him until their lips were bruised, touch all the places that Victor’s skin was warm and pink from the heat of the water.

He got his chance for it later.

Regrettably, Yuuri _did_ have grading to do, but once they were ensconced in the safety of his bedroom, there was nothing preventing Victor from sprawling at his side as Yuuri spread the essays across the foot of the bed. Yuuri languished in the possessive way Victor slung his arm over his back, all while Yuuri lay on his stomach and his pen scratched across the papers. He poked more than one hole with the force of his pen nib when Victor’s hand wandered up his sensitive waist, down his hip, curled under Yuuri’s body so his palm was trapped between Yuuri’s belly and the mattress. His hands shook when Victor brushed down his spine and curled his fingers around Yuuri’s tail, and he dropped his pen altogether when Victor answered with a thoughtful hum and nibbled at the base of his ears.

Yuuri’s full-body shudder laid him flat, trembling and aching as he turned his hazy, betrayed eyes on Victor and said, “I’m supposed to be getting my work done.”

Victor’s lips curled with a smile, a little smug, a little heated. “Am I interrupting?”

Yuuri’s teeth sank into his lower lip, and he had to avert his eyes when Victor licked his lips in sympathetic response. He _had_ to get this grading done. Tomorrow he would be too busy, and who knew when Lilia would come to call on him again for his training, and—

The thought of it all was overwhelming. Too much. Yuuri couldn’t deny that he longed to be distracted from reality. Victor, of course, was happy to oblige.

Victor nudged his face into the curve of Yuuri’s neck, fingers splayed at his lower back. This time, he did nothing more nefarious than breathe and nose gently at Yuuri’s pulse. “I’ll stop if I’m in the way. I meant when I said I just wanted to spend time with you. I don’t mean to push.”

Yuuri made a discontented little sound and turned his face toward Victor, huffing with exasperation when his glasses were pushed up by the contact with Victor’s temple. Yuuri wriggled in place, rolling onto his side as he reached out, forgoing his grading pen in favor of weaving his fingers into Victor’s hair. Victor moved with him easily until they were side by side, chests touching and legs brushing and Yuuri shivered at the half-hard heat against his thigh that was decidedly not his own.

Victor’s hair was in tangles, caught under their bodies, but he didn’t seem bothered—nor did he seem at all embarrassed, or impatient at the mirrored sensation of Yuuri’s interest. He simply nudged their foreheads together and seemed contented to _look_ at Yuuri, for his hands to do little more than explore the terrain of Yuuri’s chest and sides and back, venturing no lower without permission.

Yuuri wanted to give permission.

His tail curled behind him, sensitized and intrigued as his ears lowered, flaring out sideways as Yuuri stole forward to nuzzle under Victor’s chin, to catch a tiny section of that pale throat between his teeth and nibble a mark that had Victor’s hands clenching, blood thundering through that barrier, thin as silk and soft against Yuuri’s tongue.

Victor’s shaky exhale and interested twitch of his cock were nearly enough to have Yuuri abandoning his work completely.

Nearly.

Yuuri groaned, pained, as he pulled himself back. Victor’s fat, dark pupils and pinkened cheeks made him the most dreadfully tempting thing Yuuri had ever seen. He couldn’t, he _couldn’t_ —

“I have to do at least some of these,” Yuuri replied, and hated that he sounded out of breath when they hadn’t even been kissing. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to, um, jerk you around or anything.” Yuuri averted his eyes and felt heat in his cheeks, even as his ears trembled and he shivered with intrigue. His voice was quiet when he added, “You know I want you.”

Yuuri had never seen Victor angry, of course, but he didn’t expect the smile he got in response—slow and languid and _wanting_ , but pleased all the same. “I do now. Take your time. I’ll try not to bother.”

Yuuri dropped his face onto the mattress, cool paper pressed against his flushed cheeks as he groaned and deliberately turned back onto his belly, gingerly laying his weight down and biting his lip against the friction on his _very_ interested dick. “There’s nothing _now_ about it. I’ve wanted you forever, you don’t have to play coy. I haven’t really been subtle.”

Victor huffed out a breathy, incredulous laugh, shameless as he rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Yuuri consciously kept his eyes _away_ from the noticeable bulge in Victor’s soft sweatpants. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you,” Victor confessed with the breezy carelessness that only someone confident in their experience could muster.

Yuuri promptly went red to the tips of his burning ears, and tried desperately to return his focus to his papers, to concentrate enough to make sense of the words in the essays his students had presented to him. They deserved his full attention, he could pull himself together for at least a little while more—

“I’m okay with waiting,” Victor said, matter-of-fact. “I just want you to know that. I never want you to feel uncomfortable.”

The back of his neck felt hot. Yuuri shifted, this time from sheer embarrassment. “I know. I never doubted that.” Yuuri swallowed as he circled a grammatical error, underlined an incorrect statement and made a note in the margins. His mouth felt dry. “I trust you. So I hope—I mean, if I ever did something that was too much—I would want–”

Yuuri struggled for words, but luckily Victor read his silence. He smiled to himself in Yuuri’s peripheral vision, turned his head to cast him a warm look, and didn’t brush off Yuuri’s concern with a careless wave. It made Yuuri feel better that Victor took him seriously. “Thank you,” he said instead, “I’m happy to have someone who cares so much about me.”

Yuuri didn’t deny it. Couldn’t. His tail twitched, and Yuuri contemplated an answer as he skimmed through the next paper, scribbling a grade at the top and moving onto the next. He dropped the finished ones onto the floor beside his bed, well and truly out of harm’s way. Victor watched all this with languid contemplation, visible affection. Unconcerned, uncomplicated.

Yuuri was happy, too—finding someone who worried about him like Victor did, who was patient and caring and kind, was a rare gift. He didn’t want to take that for granted.

And he didn’t want to lie to someone who had been so honest with him.

Yuuri swallowed and set his pen down again. He took a breath, and exhaled slowly. “I was with Mari and Minako earlier, not Phichit.”

Victor didn’t jolt or sigh or twitch or show any indication of surprise. “I know.”

Yes, Yuuri figured he probably had. That only made him feel worse.

Victor rolled onto his side once more, expression open but serious, and all traces of his arousal faded. The affection, though, was still there. “You don’t have to lie to me, Yuuri. If you wish to spend time with your family, you only have to say so. You don’t owe me anything.” His smile was small, a bit pained. “I’m not the one who belongs here. I would never want to interrupt your life or demand your focus. You’ve already done so much by sheltering Yura and me. I cherish your trust, Yuuri, but I don’t expect you to throw away your loyalties.”

Yuuri bit his lip until it was on the cusp of bleeding. He forced his jaw to relax and held very still. “I want to help you get what you want. But I won’t hurt them, either. I can’t betray the trust they’ve put in me, even if…” Yuuri swallowed. “Even if they haven’t been as honest with me as you have.”

Victor stayed quiet for a moment, and the silence stretched between them. He turned onto his back once more, hands folded together on his stomach. “You’re under no obligation to tell me what you know. Yura and I will find out, one way or another. As long as you realize that it may come down to us facing your friends to find what we’re looking for.”

Yuuri swallowed.

“Make no mistake, Yuuri,” Victor said softly. “I _am_ going to find Lilia. I _will_ get the answers I’m owed, and I _will_ recover the matching data. I’m so grateful to have found you here, to have met you and to share what we share, whatever it may be. And I may not be reporting back to Yakov as I should, because I want to keep you safe from his influence. From the things he would want me to do if he knew how close we’d become. He’s not a bad man, but—”

Victor huffed. Yuuri glanced over, heart in his throat, and caught sight of the bleak expression Victor directed at the ceiling. He tapped his fingers in a rhythmless cascade against his sternum, and his lips twisted into a wry, unhappy frown.

“Yakov is first and foremost the head of the Seven Voices Academy in St. Petersburg. He is an instructor second, a guardian to the young ones third, and my adoptive father last. I am his soldier and his right hand. Without me there, without me checking in, the Academy is probably in chaos. If he knew what I know, I’m sure his orders would be to use your freedom as a bargaining chip to leverage Lilia’s location from _Relentless._ Barring that option, since he doesn’t know it _could_ be an option, my orders were to challenge any pair that may know where she is and pry it from them upon their defeat. That’s what I’m here to do.”

Yuuri closed his eyes. With a pit in his stomach, he forced out a sigh, and drew his unfinished papers together. He stacked them carefully, and placed them at the side of the bed.

Then he turned onto his back, shoulder-to-shoulder with Victor, and lay there in silence.

Victor didn’t look at him. Yuuri mulled over what, exactly, to say in response to what he’d been told. Kidnap? Extortion? What else did Yakov find palatable for the sake of what he wanted? How far would he push Victor to get it?

“And somehow, even with all of that, the first thing I did was find _you,_ like I was _supposed_ to find you there, flawless on the ice. And I thought—” Victor laughed once, softly, pained. “I thought, if life was different, if I wasn’t a Fighter, I never would have found you, and suddenly it didn’t seem so terrible. You commanded me and didn’t even know what you were doing, and it still felt _right._ And you told me your name, and for a second, I just _hoped…”_

Victor went quiet.

After a long beat of silence, mind and heart made up (as they’d already been), Yuuri reached over to take his hand.

Victor squeezed back, shivered, and sighed.

“I’m pretending to be something I’m not because I want to keep you,” Victor confessed in a whisper. “Life is so much easier when I’m yours. All I have to do is listen to what you say, I don’t have to give the orders just because I’m the only one who knows how. I _like_ being Vitya. But if you aren’t going to hide from me, I shouldn’t hide from you. You deserve to know what I am.”

Yuuri blinked slowly, mind racing. “What you are?”

Victor didn’t reply.

And Yuuri sat up. Back to Victor, chin resting on his knees which were drawn to his chest, Yuuri said, “I knew you were dangerous the moment I met you. I talked to you anyway. I knew it would get me into trouble with Mari and Minako, and I lied for you anyway. I knew I had no right to fill a space that wasn’t mine, but I got close to you anyway. And do you know what?”

Yuuri lifted his head, and his ears folded down. He rolled over onto his knees in one swift, smooth motion and crawled over Victor’s body, met his wide eyes as his legs settled on either side of Victor’s hips, as his forearms held him up on either side of Victor’s head. Tail twitching, glasses slipping down his nose, Yuuri said,

“I know that, despite what Yakov would want you to do with me, you went without sleep for three days because you were leading your friend away from me and my family. You protected us from someone who _would_ have kidnapped us and used us against Mari. You did that without even thinking about it, without telling me about it. Without complaining, Vitya. You did that for me.”

Victor’s lower lip trembled. His eyes were huge, adoring, melancholic. “I couldn’t let her hurt you.”

“If you had, you might have found Lilia by now.” Yuuri swallowed and ducked his head, pressed his face against Victor’s throat as he lowered their bodies together, let his weight settle atop Victor and reveled in his bone-deep sigh. “You gave up that chance so you could keep me safe, because you… you…”

Victor’s hands shook as they found Yuuri’s waist, traced up his back and brought his shirt slowly with it. When his hands settled on Yuuri’s spine with the warm, worn cotton draped over his fingers, they both shivered.

“Because I’m stupid,” Victor said softly. Before Yuuri could recoil with hurt, Victor hooked his leg behind Yuuri’s and flipped them over. Yuuri’s back hit the bed, and his breath left him at the fierce, nameless expression on Victor’s face.

“Because this is too fast, because it’s too much,” he added, and bent to press slow, searing kisses across the line of Yuuri’s jaw. Victor slipped Yuuri’s glasses off and dropped them over the side of the bed, landing with a hollow thud atop his stack of papers instead of the hollow clatter of the floor. Careful, cautious, courteous.

Victor returned with haste to stroke Yuuri’s hair, to gently drag a knuckle over his cheek to prompt Yuuri’s jaw wider, to slide his tongue inside. Yuuri murmured his assent, lost in the slick sounds of the mouth against his own, Victor’s sighs, his own moans.

Yuuri kicked one leg up over Victor’s hips, knee pressed into the curve of his waist, heel of his foot urging Victor closer at the swell of his ass.

Victor sank down against him, one hand at Yuuri’s hip, the other anchored against the bed. His hair fell in a silver curtain around them, the space between them so scant that Yuuri could still see every detail of Victor’s expression—his small, sad, shaky smile as his thumb brushed the side of Yuuri’s face. “Because I don’t care why I came here or whose side I’m on. I’m yours. I just am.”

Yuuri cupped Victor’s cheeks, stroked his thumbs over the crest of Victor’s cheekbones, feather-light over the flutter of his lashes, tremulous as butterfly’s wings. “You love me.”

Victor closed his eyes and turned his cheek into Yuuri’s right palm. His lips brushed Yuuri’s lifeline and lower, pressing a kiss to the tender veins inside Yuuri’s wrist. “I adore you,” Victor murmured. “And yes, Yuuri, I love you.”

With shaking hands and a skipping heart, Yuuri pulled Victor closer and slotted their mouths together. Complementary puzzle pieces.

The idea, when it came to mind, was entirely unbidden. But he could not hold the words back any more than he could stop the thundering of his heart.

“We could run.”

Victor went still. His eyes opened seconds before he pulled away from Yuuri’s mouth in muted horror, silent wonder. “What?”

Yuuri nodded as the idea took form, and cupped Victor’s cheek. If Aoyagi and Agatsuma could run for it, if they could bolt in the face of what was expected and what was bearing down on them, Yuuri saw no reason he and Victor couldn’t do the same.

Space to clear their heads. Time to catch their breath. Time to get to know one another.

“If your _friend_ comes after us, she won’t stop to bother Mari and Minako. It would buy us some time. So…” Yuuri trailed into tentative silence, the weight of uncertainty catching up to him in the face of Victor’s blank stare. “We… we could run. Together.”

Victor was speechless.

Yuuri swallowed. “Tonight.”

And still, he said nothing.

The silence grew crushing, until Yuuri could hardly breathe for the sudden shame, the guilt, the sting of rejection. No—Victor’s silence was telling, and he was right. It was a stupid idea. Impulsive. Unfairly so, for both of them.

And yet, Yuuri wanted to. Heart and mind at war, he turned his head to the side, ears flattening as he tore his eyes away. Suddenly, the intimate fall of Victor’s hair around them felt claustrophobic rather than comforting. “Sorry. Forget I said anything.” Eyes burning, heart clenching, Yuuri _hated_ the way his voice broke as he confessed, “I want more time with you, too. I told you, I’m selfish.”

Victor’s exhale was forced and sharp, swiftly followed by the sensation of his lips tracing Yuuri’s cheek, settling at the corner of his mouth. The sound of his voice was a sensation felt more than heard, murmured against Yuuri’s skin. “I’ve never wanted anything more than to be selfish with you, Yuuri. Please don’t doubt that.”

Yuuri didn’t turn into his kiss. He didn’t feel he deserved it. Not now. “But you can’t, because of Yuri. I understand.”

“If he wasn’t so young. If we weren’t so far from home,” Victor said, and it sounded like he was begging, pained and wretched, for Yuuri to understand. Yuuri almost wished he didn’t, but he _did._ “I can’t leave him without a guardian, I can’t leave him _here_ for Mila to find him with your family, and I can’t let Lilia’s faction find him, either. And if we—”

Victor laughed, a terrible sound, and kissed Yuuri desperately. Yuuri was as quick to reciprocate as Victor was to break away. He stared into Yuuri’s eyes and stroked his cheek, beautiful and sensible and _Victor_ as always.

“If we have to take him with us, Yuuri, why bother running at all?”

He couldn’t bear to look at Victor anymore. Yuuri closed his eyes. “You’re right. Of course you’re right.”

And then, as the guilt sank in and the burning in his eyes started to multiply, Yuuri felt himself wavering. He rolled to the side and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes to stave off the humiliated tears and the even more mortifying reaction.

 _“Yuuri_ . Yuuri, _please.”_

“I wish you weren’t a Fighter!” Yuuri snapped, confessing all to the bright spectrum of colors behind his eyes. Not to Victor, no. He couldn’t face Victor. “I wish you could just be my boyfriend. I don’t want to hide, I want to show you off to everyone because I’m so lucky, Victor, I’m so _lucky._ I don’t want to be afraid of meeting new people because I’m scared I’ll have to keep them instead of you—”

Victor’s hand on his shoulder was rougher than expected, and Yuuri’s ears flattened and eyes flew open as his back hit the bed again. Victor followed him down kissed him with a vehement snarl, fingers weaving tight into Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri reached back as a sob broke from his chest.

Victor’s teeth were sharp on his lower lip, a spark of pain and burning warmth that bloomed with the taste of iron between them. Yuuri didn’t realize he was bleeding until the need for breath consumed him, and he cracked open his eyes to the sight of Victor’s mouth smudged with red. Blood welled sluggishly against his tongue, but even just those few sparse drops were enough to dull the taste of Victor. He wished he had the strength to follow Victor up, chase his kiss—but could only lay still when Victor’s eyes went dark. Neither predator nor prey, but half a starving heart, ready to consume the other.

The coppery red of Yuuri’s split lip was bright and bold against the pale pad of Victor’s thumb. He looked vaguely apologetic, but only just.

Yuuri’s eyes watered traitorously as he reached out, tail thumping a frustrated rhythm against the mattress. Victor let Yuuri guide him down and pressed his face into Yuuri’s neck; Yuuri hissed out a curse at the feeling of Victor’s teeth against his throat. He shuffled his legs up until his feet were flat on the mattress, Victor settled between his thighs.

“I would give anything to be the nameless one.”

Yuuri fisted his hand in the soft, silky hair at the base of Victor’s neck. Ears flattened, baring his teeth, resisting the urge to _bite,_ Yuuri used his momentum to roll them over once more. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that to me, Victor.”

Victor stared up at him with unfathomable eyes, deep as the sea. “Vitya, Yuuri. Please.”

Yuuri forced his hands to unclench, his heart to slow. He breathed deeply in time with what Minako had taught him, four counts in, seven counts out. Again and again. He did it until he felt like he could speak without gnashing his teeth.

He felt…

“Vitya,” Yuuri whispered.

Under him, Victor relaxed. “I only meant that I wish you could mark me in a way everyone could see, so no one could deny it. So you could write your name on me. That’s already how it feels.”

His hair was a silver pool against the old sheets, Yuuri’s unbelievable Vitya. He didn’t know how to understand a creature so lovely; one that could want _him_ as much as he wanted Victor.

Yuuri bent at the waist to drag his lips across Victor’s face, the bridge of his nose, across his cheekbones and jaw until he nibbled at one soft earlobe in gentle recompense. If only he had a name to write, if _only._

He detached with a last tentative nuzzle at Victor’s temple. He smiled, heart-wrenchingly honest, and hated that fate and all its siblings had stolen his simple life from him, and furthermore deprived him of Victor.

 _Cheated._ That was the word for how he felt.

He tried to imagine a world in which he and Victor might be classmates, or met on vacation, or shared a common interest strong enough to bring them together. He imagined a world without Fighters or Sacrifices. Without the Academies. Without Yakov or Lilia and their designs against the other.

Without soulmates. A world where they could choose to be together, and that would be enough.

With gentle hands, Yuuri lifted Victor’s palm and pressed it against his sternum, soft and warm through his shirt. Victor’s fingertips twitched against his chest, against his heart. Yuuri would pull it out and give it as a gift, if he could. “Your name is on me, even if you can’t see it,” Yuuri murmured. “It always has been. Whether you like it or not.”

“I like that a lot, actually,” Victor confessed.

His tail twitched. Yuuri reached down and spread one hand wide across Victor’s chest, left of center, and felt the staccato beat against his skin. Echoes of one another, he thought. Mirrors.

In every way but one.

In _every_ way.

“I love you,” Yuuri said softly. “I love you, too. I do.” Yuuri knew he had never loved anyone else, or anyone more.

Victor’s stare was worshipful on the cusp of blasphemous. He searched soundlessly for words and came up with none, though his hand slowly curled in the fabric of Yuuri’s black henley. When he tugged, it was like the fight and the force had gone out of him, leaving only love behind—the soft kind that begged audience, rather than demanding it.

Yuuri gave it to him anyway; he always, always would.

Yuuri followed his pull until they were together again, and though the kiss stung with the remnants of their earlier clash, he wouldn’t have traded it for anything. Yuuri cradled Victor’s face in his hands, angled him just so, kissed and sucked and drank his fill until the taste of blood in his mouth was entirely gone.

Victor’s hand remained white-knuckled in his shirt, the other curved around the base of Yuuri’s skull. His eyes, when Yuuri pulled back enough to breathe, were stunned. Young.

His fingers shook when he touched Yuuri’s face, and for the first time, Yuuri did not shy away from the name. He caught Victor’s hand in his own and held it, pressing gentle, open-mouthed kisses against each letter from his wrist— _F A T E D_ —to the base of Victor’s ring finger.

When Yuuri glanced up, Victor’s jaw was stubbornly set, eyes bright with unshed tears.

 _“Don’t,”_ Yuuri commanded gently. “Please. If I can’t, you can’t.”

Victor reclaimed his hands, heels of his hands pressed hard against his eyes, just as Yuuri had before. He swallowed audibly and took a shuddering breath before he replied, “It’s just not fair.”

He didn’t have to clarify.

“I know,” Yuuri murmured. He lay his palm flat against Victor’s heart once more, felt its unsteady beat, and his ears lowered flat as his own echoed the pain. “I know.”

It took Victor a few moments to gather himself, his thoughts, his emotions, and place them neatly back inside the composed facade he normally wore. He sniffled once, a piteous sound that wrenched at Yuuri’s insides. When Victor blinked his eyes open, they were damp, reddened, but clear. He pushed himself up on his hands, which left tiny wet smudges on the blankets that Yuuri could only see in a blur, and took a steady, careful grasp at Victor’s waist to keep himself seated in his lap. Victor followed him up and dropped his forehead to Yuuri’s shoulder, arms wrapped around his back.

Yuuri rested his chin atop Victor’s head, and silently but carefully regulated his breathing. When Victor synced up to him, it felt like he won something. Yuuri’s tail swished languidly when he ducked his chin and pressed a kiss to the silver thread of Victor’s hair.

How far they’d come in such a short time.

“Yuuri,” Victor mumbled at last, his words warm through the thin fabric of Yuuri’s shirt.

Yuuri slid his fingers through Victor’s hair, scalp to waist. “Mm?”

“I know we can’t run,” he said, and Yuuri’s heart stuttered. “But I want to go somewhere that no one knows us, just for a little while. Somewhere that I _can_ just be your boyfriend. I want that, too.”

Yuuri’s touch wobbled in its path, and he let his hand come to rest on the back of Victor’s neck. He ducked his chin and looked down, warm and intimate and barely any space between their bodies as Victor, too, looked up. Their foreheads touched in the middle.

“Now?” Yuuri asked. It was late, but not impossible. The trains would be running for a few hours yet. Sleep would be a long time coming, anyway.

Victor nodded once, and only the faintest hints of light made their way through the space between them. Inside their steel, his eyes gleamed with something vulnerable. “Please.”

Yuuri’s lips brushed the apple of Victor’s cheek, felt the flush from their proximity, from his surge of emotion, from the tiny blood vessels still swollen from the strain of Victor’s tears. His tongue darted out on impulse, and he tasted salt. Victor had cried for him enough. Yuuri wanted him to smile. “Then let’s go.”

Victor’s hands tightened convulsively in the back of Yuuri’s shirt, but only for a moment. Yuuri could feel the tremble when he straightened his fingers and forced his palms to lay flat, rubbed them comfortably over each ridge of Yuuri’s spine. “Okay,” Victor murmured. “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

The nights were growing colder, Yuuri realized with a shiver, and ducked his face down into the collar of his puffy blue winter coat. He should have brought a scarf. His hat was doing an admirable job of keeping his head warm, even if he felt a substantial chill from where his ears poked out the top. All the same, Yuuri couldn’t stand the alternative style that would have kept his ears better-protected; he hated them being covered or confined, even for the sake of warmth.

Winter was Yuuri’s least favorite season. But, he thought as the tension around his eyes softened and he turned to look for Victor, maybe he could see its good points.

Both their eyes still stung from tears long dry, but Victor looked _happy_ as he walked hand-in-hand with Yuuri toward the train station. The dark of the night was cover enough for Yuuri to feel comfortable; it was unlikely they’d run into anyone he knew this late, and less likely still when they reached the next town over. They could wander for a time through the streets, maybe find a cafe or a bar where they could sit together and let their knees brush, let their hands rest together on the tabletop. Where Yuuri could kiss his cheek without fear of anyone recognizing Victor, and Yuuri with him.

It was all he wanted, at least for a little while. Just a few hours of peace. Of safety and comfort, just for them.

The warmth the train station brought was a balm against the cold. Yuuri took pity on Victor’s truly terrible Japanese to purchase both their tickets at the self-serve kiosk. They unlinked hands only for Yuuri to hand over Victor’s ticket and pass through the automated barricade. When they reached the platform, they stood shoulder to shoulder, comfortable, easy, a lighter weight on both of their hearts than they had felt in days.

An escape was within reach. Just for a little while, they would share it together.

And then the train rolled in.

At first, Yuuri noticed nothing unusual. The disembarking passengers swarmed around them in a flood of chatter, but when Yuuri went to tug Victor toward the train, he was frozen in place. Yuuri’s ears twitched as he turned, confused—

—and then he saw Victor’s face.

Jaw set. Eyes bright. Every line of his body was tense, and his hand suddenly tightened around Yuuri’s until it was nearly painful.

A few passengers glanced at them curiously from inside the train car, and then the doors slid closed. Punctual, timely as always, and the train left as suddenly as it had arrived, leaving them alone on the platform with—

A shiver went up Yuuri’s spine, and his hand squeezed convulsively with a frisson of fear, ears flattened.

Standing at the end of the platform was a woman with blood-red hair and a fierce expression, tight dark-wash denim and a leather jacket. Her gaze on them was locked, unmistakable.

Yuuri had never met her, but he knew her at once—even before Victor growled, _“Mila.”_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this post to share the love!](http://maydei.tumblr.com/post/168824639682/title-fated-pairing-victuuri-victor)


	14. Dauntless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friend betrayed. A battle fought. A bond created. A heart broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Some warnings for this chapter:** there is blood and violence that's more dramatic than a friendly spar. Please bear this in mind when reading. There are no graphic life-changing injuries or anything, but you may see characters act quite less nice than they usually present themselves. Mind the updated tags.
> 
> Okay, that being said, thank you all so much for your encouragement, which was entirely the reason I was able to finish this chapter while sitting in a garage waiting for my car to get inspected in -15F weather, and to deal with my cat being horribly clingy and needing to be on my lap while I wanted to use my laptop. The things I do for you, my friends. And the things my friends do for me. Thanks to [Rae](http://extranikiforov.tumblr.com) for beta-ing on the fly when I usually give her like a week's heads up. You're a gem. <3
> 
> Things are picking up in Fated from here on out, and with this chapter we are nearing the final stretch. Not quite there yet, but we're starting to see the goalposts on the horizon. Ye be warned: ahead there be drama, and those who don't like angst may want to skip out for a few weeks until we're done.

 

 

“Get behind me, Yuuri.”

Yuuri’s ears perked, then flattened with irritation. “No.”

_“Yuuri.”_ That was Victor’s battle voice. “Get behind me _now._ Take my phone out of my pocket and text Yura.”

It was the last thing Yuuri wanted to do, to hide behind someone else, but he did as he was told—up until he pulled up the messages and realized he couldn’t read anything. Anxious energy made him terse. “Victor, I don’t know how.”

Mila was approaching, teeth bared. Victor took a step back and bumped into Yuuri in the process. Yuuri had never felt out of sync with him before. He hated it now.

“Top message is from him. Text him a string of emojis if you have to. He’ll find us.”

Yuuri grit his teeth and did as he was told, then slipped the phone back into Victor’s pocket. His Cyrillic alphabet was useless to Yuuri, and he could only hope the string of emergency vehicle and SOS emojis would succinctly get their point across. “You can’t just call him to you?”

Victor’s fists tightened at his sides. “Not easily, no. Once he knows I need him, though, he’ll come find me.”

Yuuri had never hated being helpless so much. But, “That time at the rink—”

“He was close then. He’s not now.” Victor glanced back over his shoulder, desperately seeking reassurance of Yuuri’s continued safety before he whipped around to face his fate.

“What the _hell,_ ” Mila snarled, shoulders squared as she ground to a halt. “You come to Japan, you worry us all, you _jerked me around_ when I tried to find you, Vitya! And then when I _finally_ catch up, you’re practically glued to some stranger? _You?_ What about Yura? What about your promises? What about your duties, you _traitor—”_

“Mila,” Victor rumbled, his voice a clear warning. “Stop it. You have no idea—”

Mila clearly didn’t care what Victor meant to say next. Her eyes snapped to Yuuri over Victor’s shoulder, and narrowed. “Turning your back on your own Sacrifice, Vitya. I know you and Yura don’t always get along, but this is unnatural. It’s _wrong.”_

Victor bristled. Yuuri felt the air draw in tight around him like the seconds before a lightning strike; he could taste it in the air, sharp on his tongue, raising the hair on his trembling ears and thrashing tail. This time, Yuuri knew he could reach out. He knew he _should._

“Vitya,” Yuuri murmured, and placed his hand on Victor’s back. Calming. Steadying. He didn’t know what else to say, but he conveyed it with touch; understanding, comfort. All he could offer as he choked down his fear.

Mila took another menacing step forward, her eyes alight with frustration and anger as she reached out. “Get your hand off him—”

The energy around Victor focused and _snapped._ _“Initiate system!”_

The light exploded outward and Mila slid backward on the balls of her feet, arms crossed protectively over her chest. Just as Mila was forced back, so was Yuuri. The energy screamed through his head in one long, high-pitched tone, stronger than the ping he’d felt at the Academy, and it felt like _danger,_ it felt like _need—_

Victor’s stance was strong but inflexible as he stared Mila down, and when she lowered her arms to stare at them, it was Yuuri she locked eyes with first. Then she turned to Victor, incredulous. “You’re _challenging_ me?”

Yuuri could imagine the fierce look in Victor’s eyes; he’d seen it himself that day on the beach, and he’d seen it in Mari and Minako when they fought for each other. He hadn’t known it for the protective instinct it was then. He did now.

“Run, Yuu—” Victor stopped himself short of saying Yuuri’s name. When he glanced backward, he seemed both surprised and resigned to see the distance his push had caused between them. The knowledge and warning in his expression was heavy with its caution. “You have to run. Go home.”

He was giving Mila no ammunition to use against Yuuri. Nothing for her to track him with if he were to turn right now and leave. It was what Victor wanted; Yuuri’s strategic retreat. Assuming he made it through this undefeated and uncowed, they would regroup later once the threat was taken care of and defeated.

It was too bad Yuuri wasn’t the running sort. Not anymore.

Against the warning signals bouncing around his brain, Yuuri stepped forward. “I won’t leave you.”

Mila watched with wide, angry eyes. Victor looked almost desperate, despite being unwilling to fully turn his back on Mila, to let down his guard. He glanced at Yuuri before his eyes returned to the more immediate threat. _“Go._ Yura will be here soon, I’ll be fine. Just go.”

The wind whistled through the platform, bringing with it the taste of metal, the scent of stale petrol; everything felt very fast and very slow at once. Yuuri closed his eyes for a moment and observed from what felt like afar, as he had on the courtyard at the Academy—blazons of light and power cutting through the empty station, held at the core of two bright stars. The frigid haze of the winter around them. The artificial buzz of the machinery. The dead space taken up by concrete and steel beams. The approaching pair of sparks—young and blinking fireflies. Small, untapped, _together._

And at Yuuri’s own center: certainty, fear, and love. A complete lack of existential purpose, and a lack of care for that purpose.

Yuuri was only what he chose to be.

_“I won’t.”_

Victor went still. He didn’t turn, but he ducked his head slightly, silvery bangs falling into his face as they escaped from his low, messy ponytail, caught in the lapels of his fawn-colored coat. “Please,” he murmured, and Yuuri felt it more than he heard it.

It hurt to deny him. It would hurt worse to leave. “No.”

Those approaching sparks skidded closer as Victor squared his shoulders, and when they heard footsteps clattering down the stairs, neither Victor nor Yuuri were surprised to see Yuri and Otabek skid onto the platform, out of breath and disheveled in their torn jeans and swapped jackets, wild-eyed—though Mila seemed shocked at seeing Otabek, Yuri’s watchful shadow, breathing hard as he took in the scene and came to a snap decision.

Otabek reached for Yuri’s shoulder just as he stepped away; when he shot his companion a frustrated shrug, Yuuri knew it had been on purpose.

“I gotta, Beka,” Yuri mumbled, ears turned outward in frustration and shame. “Sorry.”

Otabek’s dark gaze was sharp and watchful, visibly anxious despite his stony expression. He swallowed and nodded once, hands coming to rest at his sides.

Yuri went to pull Otabek’s jacket off, and only that drew a reaction.

“Don’t,” Otabek said simply, quietly, only for Yuri. “Leather is tough. It’ll protect you. Keep it on.”

Yuri nodded, and he did. And when he turned—

—he met Yuuri’s eyes, and Yuuri could see his desperation, his resignation. His acceptance of his fate as he went to Victor’s side and stood at Victor’s shoulder, where Yuuri wanted to be.

The pain of it was sharp and keen, and Yuuri’s ears flattened to his head. His chest ached. It set his teeth on edge. Despite that, he knew he could no more leave Victor alone than he had planned to a moment ago: which was to say, not at all.

With nails digging into his palms and nervous anticipation chilling him to the bone, Yuuri looked to Otabek and went to join him. The nod he received was firm, understanding, and filled with just as much anxious energy.

Mila tracked him across the room, frigid anger and disbelief in her eyes, only slightly softened by Yuri’s arrival. “What the _hell,”_ she snapped, “is going on here?”

“We have this under control, Mila,” Victor replied with a brittle coldness that crackled energy in the air like ice. “Go home.”

She barked out a laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You run me around Japan when we could have been looking for Lilia, and you’re both spending your time, what—consorting with her trainees?” Her voice went angry, desperate, shrill. “Are you kidding me? You’re supposed to be our _leader,_ Vitya. You can’t even appreciate the match you’ve got, and you’re messing around while the rest of us have to _wait—”_

“Shut up, Baba,” Yuri snapped. “No one wants to hear you whine. We’re working on it. Or we were, until _you_ showed up and shot it all to hell.”

Mila’s lip was still curled, but Yuuri felt the very moment uncertainty hit her. Could her instincts be wrong? But Victor’s reactions—

She looked to Yuuri and Otabek then, quickly measured their utterly unsurprised expressions against the weight of her own doubt, and wisely (but unluckily) chose to trust herself. Mila doubled down and she raised her chin, strong and proud. “Yakov hasn’t heard from you at all. You weren’t expecting me. You challenged me on sight. I don’t believe you!”

They only had a moment to tense before Mila snapped, _“Challenge accepted!”_

Light flared around her body, radiating from the flare of her hip from under the hem of her shirt. Yuri and Victor fell into practiced step together, but without the ease and confidence that Mari and Minako shared. They radiated tension. Fear.

“I am the Fighter for _Fated.”_

“I am the Fighter for _Fearless.”_

There was no thread tied to Mila, no partner Yuuri could sense, absent or otherwise. Did she really mean to take them on alone? He glanced to the side when Otabek inclined his head, clearly realizing the same. He frowned, eyes on Yuri. They both knew that the odds were in their friends’ favor, but Yuuri was sure neither enjoyed the circumstances.

Victor’s words blistered with their chill, and his eyes were locked on Mila. He spared no glance to Yuuri, and Yuuri convinced himself it didn’t hurt. “Set terms: full restriction. Loser cedes rights to all information gathered in recon. Winner take all, and continues the mission uninterrupted. Agreed?”

“Fine!”

_“Engage.”_ Victor moved at once, stepping forward in time with the outward motion of his hand. _“Winds, freeze and immobilize—”_

“Don’t waste your time,” Yuri snapped. _“Attack_ her!”

Victor’s determined expression visibly flickered with irritation and resignation. Beside him, Yuuri heard Otabek’s surprised intake of breath. Concentration broken, and in the full view of Mila’s watchful eyes, she took her first shot.

Her eyes lifted to the ceiling of the covered platform, the long tubes of the fluorescent bulbs. She set her teeth in a snarl and reached upward, her hand closing into a fist. _“Lights, shatter! Night for night, glass from glass.”_

The lights went out with a terrible sound, leaving only the most distant bulbs on the platform lit at the very ends. Yuuri reflexively lifted his arms above his head, defensive of falling glass—but as the bulbs went dark, the only shards above them were those of pure, glowing light, ready and waiting and hovering above Victor and Yuuri like an ominous cloud, bathing their features in dramatic blue.

When Yuuri realized he was in no danger, his eyes returned to the fight—and to Victor, who mirrored his position, but with his head raised instead of hidden. _“Defend!”_ he commanded sharply.

_“Descend!”_ Mila countered, and though Victor’s shield rose quick and solid, several shards impacted with force enough to lodge in Victor’s forearms.

Yuuri made an angry, wounded noise at the sight of Victor’s near-imperceptible wince; Victor, for his part and his pain, made no sound at all. It was dark enough on the platform that Yuuri couldn’t see with certainty once the light shards faded away, but he could imagine the blood staining Victor’s coat sleeves clearly without the lingering glow. Yuuri hurt on his behalf until the very moment the chains burst into existence in thick, unyielding shackles around Yuri’s wrists and elbows—two chains per arm. Not even Minako had managed that until her final attack on _Weariless._

The lump in Yuuri’s throat was impacting his ability to breathe. Otabek crossed his arms tightly over his chest, and Yuuri knew it was nothing to do with the cold.

“Interrupting his Fighter mid-spell—it’s like they’re not attuned at all.” His voice was rough, quiet, unbelieving, and his eyes slid to Yuuri. “Are they always like this? Do you know?”

Yuuri let out a shuddering breath, eyes locked on Victor. “Yeah,” he said. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“Damn it, Yura,” Otabek murmured to himself, shaking his head. “I should—I wish—I.”

“Me too,” Yuuri replied, and when his shoulder brushed Otabek’s, it felt like solidarity.

And then Otabek turned to Yuuri, something raw in his eyes. “With Victor.”

Yuuri could not stop himself. “Yes.”

When Otabek’s expression opened up, it took Yuuri a second to recognize it for what it was. _Hope,_ there and gone again as he returned his concentration to Yuri and the battle at hand, the pain of the one he cared about. The turn of his body made his open collar flutter, and Yuuri blinked at the spread of letters across his collarbone: _Dauntless._

It suited him, Yuuri thought. And with a pang of weary longing for an alternate life, he thought the name would suit Yuri just as well.

Yuuri turned back to attention to see Mila dodge out of the way of Victor’s retaliating shot, then got caught with a second blast to her shoulder. Yuri was snapping and grimacing and Victor was largely ignoring him, whole body turned and focused on Mila. It seemed he had little regard for what Yuri might suggest outside the weight of a direct order.

Mila snarled at the band of light that bound her arm to her body and rendered it immobile. Fighting alone not only meant she bore the bruises of her battle, but she suffered the resulting restrictions as well. Yuuri shivered in distaste—no wonder no one wanted to fight alone. It would be twice as difficult, twice as painful, without the love and reassurance a partner could provide.

Well, he thought as his eyes narrowed and his ears flattened, the love and reassurance a partner could provide if they actually got along.

“Come on,” Otabek said under his breath. “Focus, Yura.”

Yuuri’s heart panged at the quiet concern Otabek showed; Yuri was lucky, so much luckier than he’d thought when he first saw them on the beach together. If Otabek meant to Yuri what Victor meant to _him,_ then…

Then Yuri was very lucky, indeed. And incredibly, terribly unlucky.

Yuuri wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone.

Above all, he wouldn’t wish it on Victor.

Yuuri’s eyes lingered on the heavy movement of Victor’s arms, cataloguing injuries he could not yet see in person. Would they be deep, requiring stitches? Would bandages do? How extensive could injuries caused by the nonphysical really be? Did wounds caused by light still need to be disinfected? Yuuri had never thought about such things before, and all of a sudden, every thought seemed to converge at once on Victor, and on Victor’s behalf.

He found that spark in the back of his head in an instant and poured his worry into it, his care. _Please,_ he said and felt and pushed. _Please, please. Do whatever it takes. Don’t let her hurt you. Come back to me safely, please._

Yuuri didn’t think he imagined the tense bunch of Victor’s shoulders shivering and relaxing. He was sure he didn’t imagine the nervous flutter at the back of his mind, accepting and acknowledging through the haze of fear.

Beside him, Otabek shifted and tore his eyes away from the battle to look at Yuuri. His expression was puzzled, eyes bright. “Did you just—?”

He didn’t get time to finish, nor Yuuri to answer, before a burst of energy lit the platform in red. Yuuri’s attention was pulled back to the fight—where it belonged, with Victor—and could not bite back his strangled noise when Mila’s attack connected with Victor’s left leg. This time, Yuuri could hear only his shaky exhale in response to the pain, even as his leg collapsed under him and Victor took a knee.

The chains that encircled Yuri were brutal, winding and crossing over his corresponding limb and _pulling_ him to the ground with a yelp that was much less dignified. Even across the platform, Yuuri could hear his string of swear words, and he didn’t need to understand Russian to understand the sentiment behind them.

If the chains were that terrible to bear, how badly must Victor be injured?

Mila stood across from them, but also looking worse for wear—Yuuri wasn’t sure when the collar of light around her neck had started, but it forced her to stoop her shoulders so she wouldn’t be pulled forward by the tension of her chain. Blood dripped sluggishly from a nasty split in her lip and down her chin, and though it was too dark to see her blood against the black, Yuuri was sure it was making a mess of her leather jacket. Most of her upper body was restrained now, which would limit her casting abilities. That was probably the only bright side, given that Victor would be almost entirely unable to dodge her attacks.

“Victor,” Yuri said quietly, and Otabek’s entire body twitched at the sound of his voice. “болит.”

“I _know,_ ” Victor replied, tight and terse, and behind him, Yuri’s ears lowered like he’d been scolded. Victor didn’t turn to see how his reply had been received—and Yuuri knew it was because of his own pain, his own stress, the things he didn’t show so he would not broadcast weakness, but to Yuri, his words were an indication of failure.

Otabek’s fists curled, fingernails biting into palms, and Yuuri could feel the sharp shards of anger making the air around them prickle and hurt. He had no idea what would happen if a third force emerged in a battle for two, and honestly didn’t want to find out. Yuuri reached out to grab his forearm and whispered, “He’s not being cruel, he’s in a lot of pain. He can’t show it to Mila. He can’t be weak.”

“Yura needs help,” Otabek breathed back. “He’s not even trying to free him—”

Yuuri bristled and hissed, “What would you want him to do? He’s injured. All he can do is focus his attacks—”

“Then he should cede the match. His Sacrifice should come first—”

Anger bubbled in Yuuri’s chest, and he wondered if this was what Yuri felt like all the time, arguing with someone who knew more about fighting technique than he did, but disagreed fundamentally on strategy. Maybe they could understand each other, after all.

But Yuuri bristled, ears pointed severely forward, the tip of his tail flicking in sharp arcs, and he said as quietly as he could manage, “If they lose, they both go home. Neither of us will ever see them again. Yakov Feltsman will send more than just Victor and Yuri now that he’s gotten this close; others will come with reinforcements.”

Otabek’s shoulders tensed. His eyes went dark with understanding, reluctant acceptance. He ducked his head, and Yuuri’s attention was drawn away when he felt an impending crackle, another strike, and tried to focus on whether it was Victor’s or Mila’s and Otabek snapped, “I _hate_ this—”

It was Victor whose hand came down in a weighted slash, snarling like a feral, angry thing when he commanded, _“Break for break. Take her down.”_

Yuuri could feel the heat from the white-hot wave of energy that rushed forward, and despite Mila’s hurried defenses, she was bound too far to dodge. Victor’s attack surged forward and wrapped from her hip to ankle, and Yuuri winced at the sizzle, at Mila’s gasping shout.

But Victor did not wait for the chain to form before he pushed himself up on one leg, the other bearing no weight but for his toe carefully pressed to the concrete platform, a shaky balance more than any sort of support. His hair was a mess, and his glowing hand was white-knuckled and shaking, the letters of his name stretched by the strain, dripping with blood. He had no ability to step forward in tandem, but his hand lashed out again, a merciless command. _“Again.”_

Otabek jerked at Yuuri’s side. “He’s not going for full restraint? He’s just—”

Mila screamed as her other leg gave out underneath her, and heavy bands bound her thighs to her shins, completely unable to lift herself whether or not she wanted to. Her hair fell into her face, each breath shuddering and wet, though she was stubborn enough not to cry.

Yuuri shivered. It was not from the cold, but from the faint smell of burned denim, blood and metal, singed hair and skin. The weight in his gut was leaden, the guilt thick like tar.

He had told Victor to do anything to win. “He’s just hurting her,” Yuuri said softly.

_“Hands, bind tight and immobilize.”_

The bonds on Mila’s hands were not merely chains, but pulled her forward until she landed on her stomach, arms crushed underneath her. She couldn’t move her head enough to shake her hair from her face, but the one piercing eye Yuuri could see was black in the dark, tear-filled and furious and unyielding. Fearless.

“Do it,” Mila snapped. “I won’t be the only one to come after you. Yakov allied with the North American faction. They’re sending their best.” Her split lip cracked as she smiled, blood staining her teeth, pooling on the cement beneath her in thick, tacky drops. “At best, you have a day before they get here and drag you home, Vitya. You’ll be tried as a traitor. I hope you’ll be ready. Or,” she eyed Victor’s leg, which twitched; his expression followed it. “Maybe not.”

Victor’s lip lifted in a sneer. He tipped his head back just a little, casting a glance to Yuri in his chains. “Your permission, Yura?”

And Yuri, shaking and pale and snapping like any wild thing caught in a snare commanded, “Just end it, already.”

_“Full restraint.”_

The final restraint was a gag of glowing light that illuminated Mila’s hauntingly blue eye, not so very different from Victor’s. All her fury, all her rage, chained and bound inside her body, and no one to cede the match for her and ask for mercy.

Victor stared dispassionately at her prone form, no hint of softness or regret—just steel. A warrior’s eyes. He’d tried to tell Yuuri, hadn’t he? He’d tried. And Yuuri had never quite believed him until now, until this. “Do you relent?”

Relief came for Mila only after she laid her head down and closed her eyes, nodded once in furious concession, and the chains shattered into bright pieces across the floor. The lights above flickered on—it seemed they had never truly broken at all, had just been dampened by Mila’s energy. However, that didn’t make the bloodstains on Victor’s coat sleeves any less real.

Yuuri didn’t know what he expected—acknowledgement, maybe. For Victor to look to him for direction, for comfort, for _something_. Perhaps for Victor to turn and check on Yuri as he swayed and collapsed under the weight of exhaustion, or even to blink as Otabek ran forward and skidded on his knees to catch Yuri before he hit the ground.

He didn’t.

Victor limped forward, hissing between his teeth, and made his way to Mila, curled on the abandoned platform. Yuuri longed to go to him, to help him—

—he didn’t.

Instead, he went to Yuri, pale and shaking in Otabek’s arms. He looked so small like this, so young and unprotected and raw, and _someone_ needed to look after him. Yuuri’s ears folded outward, tail flickering as he crouched low enough to hear Otabek’s murmurings. “Reckless, Yura, picking a fight in the middle of a fight—”

Still, Otabek’s hands were gentle and soft as they traced the crown of Yuri’s head, checking for bumps and bruises, down the side of his face and lingering on his cheek. Yuri tipped his head to rest on Otabek’s shoulder, and despite his exhaustion, he looked perfectly at home and comfortable in his lap. He didn’t withdraw or get defensive at the sight of Yuuri, either—he simply looked at peace, green eyes calm and assessing as he gazed up at Otabek.

Yuuri could picture him like this at twenty years old, what he might be like when he was fully grown and departed from the righteous anger of a lonely teenager. Perhaps that was what Otabek brought out in him—his best, just like Yuuri brought out the tenderness in Victor.

Or he used to.

“You okay?” Yuuri asked, and wisely did not try to touch while Otabek’s hands still pressed and prodded at Yuri’s pulse, his shoulders, carefully concerned.

Yuri’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and his ears went lax, tipped outward as he leaned his head into Otabek’s warmth. “Yeah. Just tired.” He opened his eyes and forced his mouth into a small, wry smile; nothing short of adoring and wholly un-Yuri as he turned his attention to Otabek once more. He plucked at the leather jacket, the loose collar of his shirt. “You were right. About the leather, I mean.”

Otabek smiled, just a little, though it didn’t soften his tetchy tone. “Don’t change the subject, Yura.” In denial of his words, he bent to press his forehead against Yuri’s in an intimate gesture that made Yuuri feel intrusive. Green eyes fluttered closed and they breathed together in time before Otabek pried his gaze back to attention. “Would you do that to me, too? Jump in and interrupt and mess up a whole sequence?”

Yuri’s eyes opened, and his slow blink up at Otabek was reverent. “No,” he admitted quietly. “But with you, I wouldn’t have to.”

The sentiment was so familiar it ached, and as Otabek leaned down to brush their lips together, Yuuri looked away. Instead, he looked up and saw only Victor’s back, his tangled hair, the blood on his sleeves now made stark and ugly in the fluorescent light. Victor listed to one side, still putting only the barest amount of weight on his injured leg, wracked with minute tremors that could have either been exhaustion or pain, and he looked…

Unmoored. Unsteady.

If he had fought alongside Yuuri instead, maybe—

Victor turned back, a terrifyingly blank expression on his face as he approached. Yuuri wanted to reach out to him, to help him, but wasn’t sure if Victor even _wanted_ anyone close to him when he was in this state. It certainly seemed so by the way he kept Yuri and Otabek between them, and Yuuri wanted that not to hurt, but it did.

“Mila’s unconscious,” Victor said, grit out between his teeth. “We can’t just leave her here, but I won’t be able to carry her like this. I don’t…” He raised his hand to press hard against one eye, streaked with blood that marred the shape of his name, upside-down against his face.

He glanced down as he came to a halt, a flicker of guilt crossing his weary face as he took in the sight of Otabek holding what was supposed to be _his_ Sacrifice, checking him for wounds like he should have been, skimming his hands over Yuri’s sternum to rest against his heart, and—

Across from Yuuri, Victor went very still. His hand fell to his side, leaving a bloody smudge on his own face.

Yuuri looked down and—

Yuri shifted, uncomfortable at their scrutiny, baring his teeth defensively as he looked up at Otabek and said, _“What?”_

And Otabek exhaled, a shaky, tremulous breath. His swallow was audible in the quiet as he stared down at where Yuri’s collar had snagged on Otabek’s searching fingers. He breathed out again, and his hand trembled, and suddenly Yuri looked very concerned indeed.

“Beka?” Yuri asked softly, and craned his head to look at his own chest. “What—”

And he whispered, “Oh.”

_Dauntless._

Yuuri looked to Victor, took in the dead glint in his eyes, the stunned quiet that had stolen over him from the moment he had seen the letters written across Yuri’s collarbone. There was something raw there, gaping and expanding into dark waves inside deep pools of blue, until—

Victor came back to himself, and when he met Yuuri’s gaze head-on, it was with tentative, terrified _hope._

He reached for Yuuri and Yuuri reached back, dodged around Otabek and Yuri and wrapped himself in Victor’s arms as he lifted Yuuri’s palms in his own, battle-worn and bloody, and turned them over, and they were—

Victor’s breath shuddered out of him, the sound he made wounded and small. “I don’t understand.”

—Yuuri was—

_“Yuuri!”_ cried a familiar voice as footsteps came running, crashing down the stairs and Victor was frozen, and—

“Get away from him!”

“Otabek? What the _hell—?”_

“What’s going on here?”

“Oh my god, _Yuuri.”_

Mari and Minako and Phichit and Seung Gil and Sara and—

Yuuri spun, ears flattened, tears dripping down his face and teeth bared at his friends and his family, only one thought in his mind (that tiny persistent feeling that was crying, that was breaking, that was falling apart and losing hope and it was _Yuuri’s_ to protect and no one else’s) as he met his sister’s eyes—

“Don’t touch him,” Yuuri snarled, sobbed, and threw his hands wide as he took a step back, pushing Victor behind him, defending him, just as he was meant to. “Don’t. He’s _mine.”_

Both hands, blank.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> болит — [it] hurts 
> 
> and so, i have been reliably informed, does this chapter. so [reblog it here and share your pain](http://maydei.tumblr.com/post/169062382697/title-fated-pairing-victuuri-victor) :3c


	15. Fearless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pushed to the breaking point by a cruel twist of fate, Victor and Yuuri attempt to pick up the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you _thank you_ all for your kind words and motivation over the last week that has helped me shove through writer's block. It's weird, but it's almost like having a deadline makes me _more_ efficient........... yikes tho don't tell my boss I said that. HUGE THANKS FOR HELPING FATED BREAK 600 KUDOS, and we're VERY close to cracking 8k hits. Seriously, you guys are amazing. All my love to [Rae](http://extranikiforov.tumblr.com) and [Robbie](http://thehobbem.tumblr.com) who have kept me going throughout these fine times. So lucky to have you both as my fabulous fandom wives. <3
> 
> I was so so lucky to have two amazing pieces of art sent to me this week! Check out [this beautiful Yuuri](https://morgaine32.tumblr.com/post/169125534976/this-soft-yuuri-was-inspired-by-maydeis-loveless) by [Morgaine32](https://morgaine32.tumblr.com/) and [the first meeting scene](http://creeshtar.tumblr.com/post/169171090107/nothing-like-finishing-a-piece-of-art-five-hours) brought to life by [Creeshtar](http://creeshtar.tumblr.com/). Thank you _so_ much, I was so excited and flattered to get both of these (in the same fucking week!! Holy moly!!) and I hope everyone takes a look and gets as hype as I did. Please show these artists your love!  <3
> 
> Alright, without further ado, it's time for drama. :D  
>   
> 

 

“Yuuri,” Mari said, eyes wide, hands held up in front of her as she slowly approached. “What—?”

“Don’t,” Yuuri said, sniffled and grimaced as he felt his eyes and nose leak freely, fogging the inside of his glasses. His ears drooped as he swiped at his face, but kept Victor behind him, taking another step back. “Mari, _don’t._ Ple–” His voice broke, and Yuuri felt Victor’s hand fist in the back of his jacket. How had everything gone so wrong? _“Please.”_

“I don’t understand,” she said softly, eyes wide and dark and focused on Victor over Yuuri’s shoulder, heavy with purpose, disdain—and confusion. “You know who he is, right? You know.”

“Yes,” Yuuri admitted. He hiccupped a sob. “Victor told me everything. They’ve been living with me.”

Mari’s forward approach stopped in its tracks. Her voice rose incrementally as her understanding settled. “You let them in our _house?_ Near our _parents,_ Yuuri?”

Around the platform was chaos, and Mari not even close to the center of it—Sara, Seung-Gil and Phichit crouched beside Otabek and Yuri, who stubbornly clung to one-another in the aftermath of their joyful, terrifying discovery. Minako knelt at the other end of the platform, her fingers pressed to Mila’s pulse, inspecting her injuries—but at the sound of Mari’s voice, she looked up sharply and met that desperate expression. She was on her feet in an instant, approaching.

Two people coming at him from two directions, even as people Yuuri knew and trusted, was more than he could handle. He felt himself sink deep into sensation, into Victor’s exhaustion and terrible sadness, acrid on his tongue. Into the feeling scratching at his mind, of reluctance and strange pleasure at being protected, and Yuuri wanted that. He wanted to protect Victor. Especially if no one else would.

His ears went flat, tail puffed and lashing, and Yuuri’s lips pulled back over his teeth as he _hissed._ It was instinctual, childish, entirely born of instinct for _love_ and _mate._ His, his. That tug at the back of his shirt was entirely _his._

Mari and Minako went still, and they shared a wary glance. Minako was the first to step forward, head ducked in her attempt to catch Yuuri’s tear-stained gaze. “Yuuri? I need you to calm down.”

And again, that tug. A soft hand whispered down his spine, and a voice he loved murmured, “Yuuri. My Yuuri.”

Tears welled in his eyes again. Though Victor’s voice was steady, his sorrow was bone-deep, shaking through Yuuri’s ribs and piercing his heart; _folie_ _à_ _deux_ _._ “You can’t have him,” he said to Mari, to Minako. He heard Victor’s breath stutter mid-inhale. “I love Victor and I won’t let you take him.”

 _“Love,”_ Mari said disbelievingly, at the very same moment Minako sighed, “Oh, _Yuuri.”_

“And I don’t care what you think,” Yuuri cut in, shoulders wracked by tremulous sniffles anew, traitorous tears slipping around the lenses of his glasses, rendering his sister’s shape a familiar blur. “He never made me choose, never asked me to. He just told me everything without expecting anything back, and he knew that I love you, and I’m _sorry_ but I’m not sorry for this. I’m not.”

Minako’s shoulders slumped, her disappointed and resigned stare a heavy weight that only Yuuri could bear. “You’re not bonded.”

And Victor, his hand tracing back up Yuuri’s side, swallowed hard and said, “I don’t care.”

 _That_ got their attention.

“You don’t _care?”_ Mari snapped. “You’re going to leave your Sacrifice—”

“Yura isn’t my Sacrifice,” Victor replied with a cool, even timbre that was entirely for show. Yuuri could nearly taste the uneven beating of his heart. “He’s Otabek’s. _Dauntless.”_

Minako’s eyes narrowed. “Did you know?”

Victor’s hand stalled and tightened at Yuuri’s waist. “Of _course_ I didn’t know. I’ve been with Yura for more than a year, trying—” He stumbled and started again. “It happened barely a minute before you walked onto the platform. _I didn’t know.”_

Minako shot a wary, sidelong glance to Mari, and brought it back again. “But you should have.”

A flare of anger—and Yuuri reached back, his hand finding and anchoring on Victor’s hip. “Shh,” Yuuri hushed, not daring to take his eyes from the threat. He wished they were home in bed; Yuuri would give almost anything to be able to touch skin to skin.  His thumb moved in a slow, comforting stroke, and Yuuri imagined he could feel Victor’s warmth in the cold.

Mari startled at the gesture, attention flickering between Yuuri and Victor, rapid-fire, searching for answers that could not be plainly read on their faces. It didn’t matter what she saw or what she didn’t; not when Yuuri could feel Victor’s tension slowly ebb, adrenaline replaced by pain, could feel him reach out to lean more heavily on Yuuri in a search for support.

Yuuri didn’t want to turn his back on them, but Victor needed him. And Yuuri was moderately confident that, if push came to shove, Yura’s familial loyalty to Victor would even the odds, bonded or not.

He stood slowly enough for Victor to adjust and reached out, Victor’s arm around his shoulders, Yuuri’s around his waist, his injured leg held carefully between them. Within moments Yuuri felt his shoulders dampen; he realized with a jolt that it was from blood. Victor’s blood.

“You need first aid,” Yuuri murmured in worry, ears turning outward as he looked up and Victor looked down. The surprise on his face should have been insulting (of course Yuuri cared, of _course_ he did) but instead, it only made Yuuri feel raw. “We gotta get you home.”

Mari bristled. “Yuuri—”

Yuuri’s ears snapped forward, and he bared his teeth. “He’s coming with me, Mari.” Yuuri glanced back, noticing Otabek and Yuri stumbling to their feet, Mila still prone on the pavement. “They all are.”

Minako watched Yuuri with a dark, considering expression. “What would you do if we stopped you, Yuuri?”

Victor stiffened at his side; Yuuri’s other hand went to his chest instinctively, steadied against his thrumming, terrified heart, the lapels of his coat damp with blood and sweat under his fingers. “Don’t touch him,” Victor replied in a growl. “If you want to fight with someone, fight with me. Leave Yuuri out of it.”

“You’re in no state to be fighting anyone,” Minako said with a sniff, lifting her chin. Her eyes flickered from Victor to Yuuri again, and slowly some of the hostility seemed to drain. “No,” she said softly, directed as she turned her head to Mari. “If he’d told Victor where Lilia was, they’d be there now—not fighting their own people at a train station at one in the morning. So dramatically it woke us all up, I might add.”

Victor’s fingers curled into a fist against Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri could not look at him, couldn’t bear to see the stunned, stricken expression—

“You know where she is,” Victor said softly, and Yuuri felt him staring but didn’t meet his eyes.

“You told me you wouldn’t ask me to compromise my loyalties,” Yuuri replied with a flicker of dread, hitched Victor up where he was starting to stumble. “And you haven’t, and I won’t.”

Victor’s hand tightened—and relaxed. “You’re right,” and then again, “Of course you’re right.”

Mari and Minako shared another long look, and Yuuri felt the flare of irritation and of longing in the back of his skull. _It’s okay,_ he said with his heart, with his hand smoothing down Victor’s sternum until it fell to his side again and he helped Victor limp forward. “Yuri, Otabek. Time to go.”

“Wait. Mila,” Victor said again, and now that she was no longer a threat to him, he sounded _worried._ “We can’t leave her here.”

Yuuri’s hand tightened, and he hissed, “She attacked you.”

In return, “She was following orders. And she’s looking for the same thing we’re all looking for.” Victor leveled an icy expression on Mari and Minako. “Mistakes like mine are made because we have incomplete information, or none at all.”

Mari scowled at him. “That’s nothing to do with us.” She turned back to observe Phichit and Seung-Gil, flickered to Sara and met her violet eyes. “Check on Mila, please. We may need to help her walk.”

“Got it,” Sara answered, though her countenance was wary as she approached the fallen form of the woman she only knew as Victor’s defeated opponent—an enemy of her enemy. “Phichit, Seung-Gil, I might need your help.”

_Phichit._

Yuuri flickered his guilty eyes toward his best friend, but wasn’t met with derision—instead, he read wary respect. And happiness, too; real happiness. The corners of Phichit’s eyes crinkled as he smiled and offered Yuuri a tiny nod, exasperated but understanding. He mouthed something silently to Yuuri, and it wasn’t until he turned to follow Sara that Yuuri’s brain caught up:

_You got him._

And suddenly Yuuri grinned, bright and stupidly relieved. He _had_ gotten Victor, hadn’t he? Maybe not the way he wanted, but—

And then.

Of course.

“What is this?” came Sara’s shaky voice, grabbing everyone’s attention. She knelt beside Mila, whose shirt had ridden up her midsection when she collapsed, and her name was visible: _Fearless._

Bright and white on Sara’s hip, too, where she had pulled down the high waistband of her jeans: _Fearless._

Victor’s hand tightened convulsively on Yuuri’s shoulder. Mari and Minako forgot all about them as they hurried to Sara’s side, heads tilted and eyes bright with intrigue.

The happiness vanished as quickly as it had come. Yuuri wanted to _scream._

Victor turned, pressed his face into Yuuri’s hair. His breath was warm against one quivering ear. Though the gesture was affectionate, Yuuri could feel the howling chasm in the core of Victor’s heart—widening, widening, a space forced between them by circumstance and fate. “So,” he said quietly. “Everyone but us.”

Yuuri’s arm shifted around his waist, squeezed tight enough to hurt, and answered faintly, “It seems that way.”

“I don’t—” Victor went silent. And then, slowly, he pressed his lips to the crown of Yuuri’s head in a trembling, shaken gesture. But his voice, cracking open with pain: “Why not us, Yuuri? What are we doing wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri whispered, and lifted his chin to brush his mouth along Victor’s jaw. His eyes fluttered closed, burning with the unfairness of it all, even as he savored the warmth Victor radiated. Yuuri couldn’t have cared less about the lingering smudge of blood on his pale skin, but he _did_ care that Victor was shivering—and that more than anything pulled Yuuri out of his own head, back to the world at large.

Victor needed medical attention, and Yuuri was the only one who would see fit to give it to him.

When he looked to his sister to hurry her along, he found Minako watching them instead. Head tucked under Victor’s chin, he stared back with his swollen eyes and didn’t know what to say. Though Yuuri felt as vehemently repulsed at the idea of being separated as he had before, Minako was right—there was very little they would be able to do if she decided they should be split. He had to convince her they shouldn’t be… or be prepared to outrun her if she tried.

But something about her expression was contemplative as she looked back at Yuuri; a little knowing, a little sad. It occurred to him all at once what she was thinking: that since he had no match, he was settling for what he could get. The thought rolled his stomach, and Yuuri turned his face away from her, defiantly and lovingly nosed at Victor’s pulse as he helped him away from the commotion.

If Sara wanted Mila, she could have her. Yuuri was far from concerned about her ultimate fate. Victor was his concern; Victor, and Yuri by extension.

“Come on,” Yuuri murmured quietly, drawing their gazes and their attention. “Let’s get you both patched up.”

With this, Otabek seemed to be in agreement. He held Yuri’s hand as they grouped up together, and Yuuri could not be entirely certain when he’d started thinking of Victor and Yuri as his responsibility, but there was nothing to it now. Victor was his, and Yuri by extension; Otabek, too, by nature of belonging to Yuri.

He loved Mari, he loved Minako. His affection for Phichit knew no limits.

But Victor was his. Victor was _his._

“Yuuri,” Minako started, and he could see the conflict in her face as Mari turned, too, ready to stop them—

Yuuri’s ears lowered. He leaned his head into Victor’s chin as if to assure himself he was still there, and he said, “You’ll know where we are—but I’m taking them. Let us go.”

Minako and Mari stood, one fluid unit, and from behind them, Phichit watched with careful eyes. Seung-Gil observed, though Sara was still consumed.

Understandable, Yuuri knew. He tried not to feel bitter about it, and failed terrifically.

Mari’s face was a perfect storm of resentment and doubt. In all actuality, she probably _would_ have stopped them, had Phichit not walked across the space between them with purpose until he stood before Yuuri with a smile. Forcefully light-hearted, and so very Phichit.

“Didn’t think I’d see you around again,” Phichit said, glancing up at Victor, who stared back. Phichit seemed amused at his nonplussed expression, and turned his eyes back to his friend. “But I guess if you know what you know and you’re still together, that means you have something special, named or not. Right?”

Yuuri had never loved Phichit as much as he did then, perhaps never truly appreciated Phichit’s understanding of Yuuri’s abject misery these past few days, weeks, months, years. All that time of being alone, Phichit as a friendly lifeline—he’d never known how clearly he’d been seen. Not until now.

Maybe it showed on his face; maybe the tremble of his lips matched the tremble of his ears as Yuuri’s exhaustion caught up to him. Maybe the swell of emotion had laid him bare before those who knew him, and this mercy was the easiest thing his friend could give. But Phichit reached out with casual care and patted Yuuri’s cheek, then put his hands on his hips as he looked at them both; assessed them evenly.

“I know you’re both beat half to hell and it’s been a hard night, but you look happier than the last time I saw you.” With a firm nod that was mostly to himself, and a wink tossed their direction, Phichit turned back to his bonded, to Mari and Minako, to them all. “Look, if you’re not going to challenge _Fated_ then you should let him go. Even challenging him is pushing it when he’s in this state. The honor code is pretty clear about picking battles with injured Fighters, and he hasn’t done anything to us other than his reputation, right?”

Mari took a menacing step forward, features twisted. “Phichit, you knew—”

Phichit stood his ground admirably, head tipped, lips pursed as he tossed a glance back to Yuuri and Victor over his shoulder. “I mean, it was pretty obvious something changed with Yuuri if you were paying attention,” he replied coolly. “Didn’t have to know him his whole life to notice _that.”_

Yuuri wasn’t sure whether to laugh or to cringe at the thunderous glance that Minako and Mari shared. Minako squared her shoulders. “You should have told someone you saw Victor in Hasetsu.”

“Why?” Phichit shrugged casually, but his glare spoke volumes of its own. “All I saw was an unfamiliar Fighter who never gave me the time of day, much less threatened anyone I know. Almost seems like if you want us to report everything suspicious that we see, maybe we lesser Sacrifices should be told about the Academy’s business before something like this happens, don’t you think? I don’t see an enemy here. Right now all I see is my friend who’d really like to get home and take care of his boyfriend, and I think we should probably let him.”

Mari visibly jolted at the word _boyfriend._

It was so… benign. So out of place in her world, in _their_ world, the same one Yuuri had been born into but only inherited with Victor’s emergence in his life—but it was true.

Boyfriend.

And as Victor leaned heavily into Yuuri’s support, as Victor relied on him, as he had demonstrated his affection with kisses pressed to Yuuri’s hair and lingering, aching, bittersweet nuzzles, it had grown undeniable. Victor and Yuuri were attached, whether or not they were matched.

Boyfriend.

It rang in Yuuri’s ears and made him dizzy, made his heart speed and his hands sweat, and he cringed as he wiped his palm against Victor’s filthy jacket. He couldn’t quite meet Mari’s eyes; kept his gaze on her chin, her frowning lips, the tension in her jaw. He watched it as he felt Yuri and Otabek group up behind them—watched the sneer twist her mouth that Yuuri had seen directed at everything from celebrity gossip to Yuuri’s childhood bullies, but never himself.

It hurt to be on the receiving end, but not enough to make him change sides. Yuuri was on no one’s side but his own, at least in this.

But despite being on his own side, he was not actually _on_ his own. Phichit stood with him; the best and truest friend Yuuri had ever known. Yuuri’s tail swished as he reached out with his free hand and touched the back of Phichit’s shoulder, a silent, thankful gesture. When Phichit reached back to brush their fingers together, he knew all was understood.

Mari and Minako stood in tense silence. Seung-Gil’s eyes were heavy on his bonded, sharing a silent conversation to which no one else was privy, until:

“Those wounds should be seen to,” Seung-Gil said from behind them. When they rounded on him, he simply shrugged—but never broke eye contact with Phichit. “He doesn’t have anyone but Yuuri to look after him. He’s far from home, and he hasn’t caused any trouble. I doubt Yuuri would keep company with him if he had.”

All was silent. Mari and Minako shared another long look. Yuuri could feel Victor’s low-level current of anxiety in the same way he could sense his energy was fading, and fast. At this rate, it would be almost a miracle to get him back to the onsen on foot.

That, more than anything, forced Yuuri to speak up, derision as thick as Victor’s blood soaking into his clothes. “You’re right. There’s nothing I could do to stop you if you decided to split us up. But there’s nothing _you_ can do if you split us up, either. You’ll have to keep him prisoner in your apartment or take him straight to Lilia, and no matter what you do, you don’t exactly have a functioning prison cell. This is my decision: Victor’s coming with me. So are Yuri and Otabek. We’re going to sleep, and I’m going to school in the morning, and you’re going to leave them all alone tomorrow until we can meet for negotiations, or _whatever_ it is you want.”

Yuuri’s eyes lingered on Mila. He glanced to Victor’s soft eyes and exhausted face, and then to Sara. “Take her with you. We don’t have a jail cell any more than you do, and you should probably stay together. You probably have a lot to talk about once she wakes up.”

Sara’s violet eyes were still wide, disbelieving, as she reached out to run her hands through Mila’s scarlet hair. And then, all at once, Sara scooted forward and pulled Mila’s head into her lap, skimming gentle fingers over delicate features, learning and memorizing them for the first time, but not the last.

Yuuri tried not to think about the fact that this might be his last night with Victor, though not the first.

God, they’d wasted so much time.

And the clutch of Victor’s hands on him, the anxious tremble of his fingers, the nervous needling at the back of his mind only reiterated how much he had to lose.

How much _they_ had to lose.

“We’re going,” Yuuri said, and he turned with Victor as best they could, limping toward the station staircase, and oh this was going to be a long trip home—

“Sara,” Minako said. “You have your car. We’ll help you get Mila to it. And then I’d like you to drive them back to Yutopia Katsuki, if you’re comfortable with that.”

Yuuri paused. Mila, Sara, Yuri, Otabek, Victor, and Yuuri—in one car? Even by most vehicle standards, Japanese cars were small.

“They’ll have to all fit in the back,” Sara said, and her voice, hard as steel, begged no compromise. As Yuuri glanced back, she traced her hand over Mila’s hair and sent a conflicted glance in their direction. Yuuri could empathize. A woman who had been her supposed enemy was suddenly her soulmate, and she was torn over how she was supposed to feel over Mila’s thorough—and some might say cruel—defeat.

“We’ll make it work,” replied Otabek, drawing Sara’s gaze to him. She hesitated before responding with a brusque nod.

Yuuri had almost forgotten that they were on the same side. But when Fighters and Sacrifices came together into bonded pairs, could _anyone_ truly be on the same side, other than standing with the one they were tied to?

Phichit and Seung-Gil helped lift Mila from the ground, though Otabek was the one who stepped up to carry her. Yuri offered him a bittersweet flutter of a smile, there and gone again so quickly that Yuuri couldn’t be sure if he’d seen it at all.

Against him, Yuuri could feel Victor start to tremble with the strain of keeping himself upright. Yuuri’s hand returned to anchor at his sternum, the other around his waist. Yuuri’s ears twitched with unease, tail curling around the back of Victor’s thigh against his better judgement. Yuuri gently, so gently, nudged his temple against Victor’s jaw, and felt the quiet huff of pained laughter in the form of warm breath against one ear.

“You’re gonna be okay, Victor. Vitya,” Yuuri murmured, correcting himself, not knowing or caring if anyone was watching them. He was more concerned about that flicker of flame at the back of his mind, glowing but dim, smoldering instead of burning. “Okay? Just a little bit longer.”

“I know,” Victor replied softly, and dutifully limped forward as they started off again, bringing up the rear as not to slow the rest with their careful pace. Victor did not look at Yuuri when he murmured, “I don’t deserve you. Do you know that?”

“I told you once that I don’t care what you think you deserve, and I meant it,” Yuuri replied, too worried to be as vehement as he’d like. His thumb brushed over the curve of Victor’s ribcage, and Yuuri tightened his hold as they started slowly upward, one stair at a time, his other hand leaving Victor’s warmth to clutch at the railing. The blood from Victor’s arm slung over his shoulders had seeped through to Yuuri’s skin and was starting to feel cold. His coat would probably be a loss, and Victor’s as well. It was the least of his concerns.

“I’m gonna—” His voice broke. Yuuri swallowed heavily. He wasn’t sure when he had stopped crying, and wasn’t sure he wouldn’t start again. “I’m gonna take care of you. That’s what we’re supposed to do, right? Sacrifices?”

Victor’s arm tightened around him, and though it had to agitate the cuts on his arms, he did not so much as hiss with pain. “Sometimes I’m not even sure if you’re real.”

The tone of his voice drew Yuuri’s sharp attention—bleary with longing, the stronger intonation of his Russian accent leaking into his voice. Eyes heavy-lidded and only half-open, adrenaline fading, Yuuri gave him a little shake and hauled him up the next step. “I’m real. You’re real. We’re here together and that’s real. Please stay with me, Vitya.” Yuuri swallowed; another step, and then another. Slowly but surely. “Please stay with me. I can’t get you up there alone, you have to help me. Just a little longer.”

Victor’s smile flickered, and when he blinked, some of the light came back into his eyes as he forced himself to focus. _“Don’t go where I can’t follow?”_

Yuuri hiccupped a laugh and nosed at Victor’s jaw again, then turned his eyes to the summit of the staircase. Not too much farther. “Yeah. Exactly.”

The rest of the climb was uneventful but slow, and by the time they reached the top, Sara had already pulled her car up to the curb and Otabek was buckling Mila into the front. Yuri stood at his shoulder, an antsy blonde shadow. Yuuri had never seen him look _worried_ before.

Yuuri paused at the top so Victor could catch his breath and steady his footing. His eyes, like Yuuri’s, tracked the boy that, until tonight, he had thought was his fate, his future. Yuuri did not have to wonder how Victor felt now that he was unmoored. He’d seen the crushing defeat in his eyes when Yuuri’s hand did not bear his name.

“They’re friends,” Victor said quietly, with an unhappy ghost of a laugh. At Yuuri’s inquiring noise, he clarified, “Mila and Yura. They’re friends. Mila kept an eye out for him when he first came to St. Petersburg. Yura would talk her ear off when he could see her getting lonely. And I—” He sighed. “They were forced to hurt each other because of my decisions. Because I chose not to check in. Mila was right. She won’t be the last to follow us here. If Yakov has allied with the North Americans—”

Yuuri’s heart clenched at the deadened tone of Victor’s voice; that tiny, lonely, unhappy ember that sparked with sadness as he watched Otabek stand and close the car door, then idly run his hand through Yuri’s hair and let it settle at the nape of his neck like he’d done it a thousand times before. Yuri folded himself comfortably, effortlessly into Otabek’s side as they rounded Sara’s car; and as Otabek opened the door for him to the back, Yuri looked up and met Yuuri’s eyes. His blonde-furred ears swiveled outward and forward again, and he tipped his head in inquiry, bottle-green gaze sliding up to Victor—

Victor sighed and shook his head once. Yuri slowly nodded, silent signal taken, and then balked as Otabek climbed into the car and held out his arms for Yuri to sit on his lap.

“Beka, I’m _not—”_

“We won’t all fit otherwise—”

_“Beka—”_

And Victor laughed. He laughed and it sounded sad, but it sounded happy all at once, and Yuuri turned in his arms so they were face to face, so his back was to Mari and Minako and Phichit and Seung-Gil and all of them, waiting for him.

Yuuri freed one hand to touch Victor’s cheek and guide him down, uncaring of his dirt-streaked and blood-smudged face, the state of his hair, the surprised glimmer in those blue eyes that burst in front of the exhaustion, of the metal taste Yuuri found in his mouth. He kissed Victor slowly, thoroughly, nursing sweetness from the shadow of violence. Both sides of this night, and of Victor, belonged to him.

He kissed Victor until bearing his weight grew _just_ on this side of too much, and even then, Yuuri kissed the corner of his mouth, his bloodied cheek as he held him up. And Victor, surprised but exhausted, threaded one hand into Yuuri’s hair and pressed his face to the crown of his head and _purred._

The worry in Yuuri’s chest thawed and melted, blooming into joy at the soft sound, not often made outside of childhood, but reserved for moments—and for people—that were landmarks of safety, of love.

Yuuri could feel the weight of eyes on his back. But as his hand traced down to stroke over Victor’s tremulous pulse with his thumb, he was the furthest from caring that he’d ever been. “I’m sorry we didn’t make it out before Mila found us,” Yuuri whispered so only Victor could hear. “I wanted that so much, Vitya. I’m sorry I couldn’t give it to you.”

Victor kissed Yuuri’s hair, an affectionate peck placed flat between his ears, which tremored at Victor’s nearness. He rubbed his cheek against one idly, then pulled back to look into Yuuri’s face. He smiled a little, soft and sweet and faintly sad, and used his free hand to straighten Yuuri’s glasses. “моя любовь. My Yuuri. If you love me, I have everything I need.”

Yuuri nodded. His eyes stung with the cold wind and fresh, hot tears—and an inopportune lump in his throat that he couldn’t force words around. He swallowed hard and _tried,_ but only came up with a sob. Guilt-ridden and overwhelmed, scared and lonely, Yuuri was suddenly crashing as the night caught up to him, the reality of everyone around them getting exactly what he and Victor were denied. It was _cruel._

Victor, hurt and blood-soaked and named yet _alone_ was cruelest of all.

Victor’s smile crumbled at the sight of Yuuri’s tears, and suddenly it seemed that neither of them could be strong anymore. Yuuri’s legs gave out beneath him and they both fell, knees scraped bloody against the freezing concrete, even through his jeans—and there was vicious pleasure in it, almost. Let him match Victor, then. In every way. Their scars, their sorrows. Just let them be _together._

“Yuuri!”

Yuuri clung to Victor with any and all strength that he had; despite the pain, the cold, all that mattered was Victor clutched close to him. Victor’s face buried against Yuuri’s throat, his blood-stained arms smudging fresh stains into Yuuri’s clothes. Yuuri’s hands fisted in the back of Victor’s coat, holding them together as they mourned for something fate did not see fit to give them.

“Yuuri! Yuuri—geez—Minako, what is going _on_ —” Mari.

“Yuuri, I need you to let go—” And Minako.

_No._

But then—

“Seung-Gil, help Victor. Yuuri? We’re gonna help you stand now, okay? The ground is frozen. We’re gonna get you both to the car, so just stand when we lift you. Do you think you can do that?”

Phichit. Phichit understood, Yuuri knew he did.

“Yuuri, nod if you can hear me. Okay, that’s good. We’re gonna lift on three. One, two, _three—”_

The word lurched, and Yuuri suddenly found himself standing, though his grip on Victor had not been disturbed. Yuuri pulled him closer, closer, it was _cold_ , and he felt Victor clinging back, his sniffles damp and muffled against Yuuri’s throat.

“Come on, Yuuri,” Phichit prompted softly. “One step at a time. We’re not gonna break you up, ok? Just need to get you to the car. I know it’s a lot, but you’re doing really well. One more. That’s really good, come on. Almost there.”

Yuuri heard the car door open but did not see it; he felt Phichit guide his head down as he sat, never trying to pull Victor away. Yuuri pulled his legs up into the footwell and shivered, the warmth of the car making a sharp contrast to the outside cold. And Victor above him, wrapped around Yuuri’s body and nestled in his lap, was a comforting weight that was not even slightly stifling.

Yuuri felt the car door close and knew neither of them had done it; felt Victor sob at the exact moment Yuuri slid his fingers into his tangled hair and held him close.

And outside, an incredulous and wondering voice—

“What the _fuck,_ ” Mari said, “was _that?”_

Yuuri did not hear the reply. He didn’t want to. He didn’t care what they were saying, only that Victor was here and that they had not been separated. That Victor was choosing him, and that Yuuri was wanted. That Yuuri loved him and wanted him in return.

Yuuri felt unfamiliar fingers tap his knee—that place with blood staining his jeans, but the only piece of him that Victor wasn’t wrapped around, the lines of their bodies entangled like thread. Two separate pieces, maybe, but so tightly woven that it would take nothing short of a blade to cut them apart.

“Is he okay?” Yuri asked softly, and Yuuri felt him turn back to Otabek when he got no answer. “This isn’t right, Beka. This isn’t like him.”

The silence shivered; the small space stretched. They were as close as they could draw together, but some part of Yuuri and the grieving little glow at the back of his head had never felt farther apart.

“Maybe he’s always been like this,” Otabek said, though he sounded uncertain, “and he just never showed it to you.”

And Yuri’s voice, small enough to miss—“Yeah, maybe.”

“Let’s go, Sara.”

The car lurched, rolling like Yuuri’s stomach at every wet, breathless sob against his skin. And the cold, shaking certainty that froze Yuuri’s core was a voice entirely his own, entirely alone:

_This will make or break us._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [rebloggable chapter post](http://maydei.tumblr.com/post/169333450372/title-fated-pairing-victuuri-victor)


	16. Breathless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the battle, Yuuri and Victor tend to each other’s wounds, both physical and emotional—with unexpected consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Here we fucking are. Special thanks goes out to [Rae](http://extranikiforov.tumblr.com) for her diligent beta work on this behemoth of a chapter, and to [Robbie](http://thehobbem.tumblr.com) for the idea she gave me (and doesn't know the details of). Darling dear, you're about to find out. 
> 
> **This chapter marks the bump of the rating from T to M. Please don't read this in public unless you have a strong poker face.**
> 
> Also, please note that [Nae](http://nae812.tumblr.com) has done a [REALLY fantastic commission](http://nae812.tumblr.com/post/169596606217/commission-for-maydei-this-scene-is-from-their) for the beach scene Chapter Nine. Please shower her with love and praise, because her art literally blows my mind. 
> 
> Ok. Here we go. Buckle up.

 

The onsen was dark, quiet; the small hours of the morning lended themselves to silence. It took all of Yuuri’s presence of mind to realize they were finally _home_ , to coax Victor gently from the car and up the walkway, leaning heavily into Yuuri’s side.

Yuuri did not know or care for Mila’s ultimate fate; Sara could have followed them and Yuuri wouldn’t have realized. As it was, he noted only in passing when Yuri and Otabek entered behind them and went straight for Yuri’s room, contemplative with their newfound togetherness, hand-in-hand. Yuri’s lingering backward glance was solemn, though not untouched by worry. Otabek’s hand spread between his shoulder blades, and when Yuri finally turned away, it was of his own volition and nothing else. In the last seconds before Otabek slid the door closed, Yuuri saw Yuri lean forward, forehead resting against Otabek’s collarbone, against the name they both shared. He saw tension leech from his slender body; saw it start to tremble as the night, too, caught up to Yuri—

—and then nothing, and Yuuri and Victor were alone, feet crammed into house slippers, wavering on their feet, filthy and saturated with blood.

“Come on,” Yuuri murmured, tugging him toward the changing room. “We need to get you cleaned up.”

Their footsteps sounded heavy and raucous when the inn was this silent; Yuuri winced with every step and prayed his habitually light-sleeping parents would not come looking out of concern for their patrons. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this, nor Victor. It seemed incredibly important that this just be kept between them—the gore and grime and the intimacy of both.

This was not the kind of night that would suffer interruption.

Victor’s weight was both a comfort and a burden, though his quiet hitched breaths and wordless huffs were a language all their own. Though learning, Yuuri was still only half-fluent, but had enough foreknowledge to pass.

There was something about the silent locker room that was haunting in its emptiness. The yellowing fluorescent bulbs didn’t flicker or anything quite so trite, but the echo of every sound felt ominous all the same. Even the soft padding of their feet across the tile felt like a racket as they kicked off their slippers by the door; when Victor leaned against the wall to brace himself and unbutton his coat, his labored hiss was louder than a waterfall.

Yuuri decided it was best to give him a moment, confident that Victor would ask for help if he needed it. In the meantime, he stripped off his coat with some small amount of regret; he really _had_ liked it, but there was nothing he could do about it now. The sheer amount of blood soaked into the shoulders and across the back was more than he could manage to scrub out on his own, and there was no way in hell he would ever ask his mother for her help and risk her worrying. He laid it over the changing bench and pulled off his shirt, set it next to the jacket—the blood had not soaked through his top layer, thankfully, and it would be salvageable with a good wash. His jeans, questionable; he hadn’t torn the knees, but they too were dappled with blood spots. At least it was his own. He kicked off his socks at the very end, and wasn’t sure if it should be considered impressive that they were the only garments that had fully withstood the night.

He was down to his boxers, tail wrapped tight around his thigh and goosebumps erupting along his arms when he turned, asking, “Do you think any of your clothes can be saved, or—?”

Victor was not busy undressing. Victor was _staring._

Yuuri’s cheeks went hot in a second and he shivered again, still at least half-cold. He resisted the urge to cover himself; he and Victor had gone through enough that a little bit of bathing-related nudity was nothing, but—

—but they were alone, Yuuri realized. Suddenly the empty locker room felt more like a stage than a public area, and Yuuri was standing beneath the full force of Victor’s spotlight focus.

He swallowed.

And then he realized that, despite the pink glow in pale cheeks that could have been cold, and the slightly-stunned parting of his lips, Victor’s arms were still tangled in his coat _._ Yuuri huffed out a breath and set down his jeans. Now was not the time for modesty. Now was the time to take care of Victor and to worry about the rest later. Yuuri forced a small smile that he wasn’t quite sure he felt and took a step forward, palms up. “I can help…” At Victor’s burning gaze, Yuuri’s confidence faltered. “...if you want. Your arms must hurt.”

Victor glanced down like he hadn’t even noticed them. Maybe he hadn’t. “Oh.”

Yuuri couldn’t help his smile flickering forth again. Victor was a mix of exhaustion and attraction that made him look more touchable than usual—soft, where Yuuri usually expected him to be strong. It was nice.

He stepped forward until he was close enough to touch, fingertips resting on Victor’s blood-soaked sleeves. Yuuri was feeling his near-nudity as keenly as the drafty room, but the distant amazement as Victor’s eyes was a burn and a balm in equal measures. Yuuri fought his self-consciousness down, even though he couldn’t help the way his ears lowered with uncertainty, his tail twitched with pause. “May I?”

Victor’s laugh was gently disbelieving, his smile small but earnest. “You never have to ask to undress me, Yuuri.”

Yuuri’s heart jumped to his throat; his face went hot, but his hands were steady as he pulled Victor’s arms clear of the sleeves and down his back. Victor leaned away from the wall for just long enough for Yuuri to free it from where it was trapped behind him.

His raising told him to take Victor’s ruined coat and put it away properly, right beside his own.

Yuuri dropped it on the floor.

He shuddered out a sigh, fingers curling in the sweat-damp bottom hem of Victor’s shirt. Though the permission had only just been given, Yuuri glanced up to meet Victor’s gaze, to see his approval before he continued. Tenderness and heat were a dangerous combination in the shine of Victor’s eyes, even under the smudges of gray and brown and red—but Yuuri forced himself to look away, to focus as he carefully tugged at the rust-red cuffs of Victor’s shirt; the wet, tattered forearms stuck with moisture to his skin as Victor pulled his arms out, then slipped the rest over his head, and he was—

—breathless. Yuuri’s lips parted, his eyes roving the revealed expanse of Victor’s chest and the sweet pink spreading across his sternum and collarbones, the sparse constellations of freckles on his shoulder blades that Yuuri had only ever seen in the dark. Yuuri wanted to put his mouth on them to see how they’d taste.

A low coil of heat simmered in his belly at the thought. Victor would probably let him. Victor wasn’t in the habit of denying Yuuri anything, especially when it allowed them to get closer.

They both needed to get clean. He shouldn’t.

“You’re staring.” Victor sounded amused.

Victor was still shiny with sweat, smudged with blood from his elbows to his fingertips, all of it his own. Yuuri could see the start of angry red and purple bruises peeking above the waistband of Victor’s sweatpants, now beyond ruined. And the elastic of his briefs, too, the line of soft black cotton against watercolor skin—

Yuuri forced himself to look up. Victor’s teeth worried at his cracked and swollen lower lip, head tipped to the side, his hair a gloriously tangled mess tied at the base of his neck. His expression was as considering as it was wanting, and aside from shifting his weight where he leaned against the wall for support, he seemed content just to let Yuuri look so long as Yuuri acknowledged it, so he did.

Yuuri stepped close and reached for Victor’s hands, ran his thumbs over filthy palms before he placed them on his own waist. He reveled in the clench of Victor’s fingers against his skin, careless of the patina of filth he might leave behind; Victor’s name was hidden beneath that thin veneer, and Yuuri didn’t want to remember it anyway. Let this be them, just them. Let them be terribly in love and willing to get caught in the name of laying hands on one another.

Yuuri stepped into the circle of Victor’s arms, chest to chest, and sucked an open-mouthed kiss over the Polaris on Victor’s shoulder. He was past the point of caring what he should or shouldn’t do. Logic said he shouldn’t have anything to do with Victor in the first place, but logic was wrong. This was right.

Victor’s surprised, bitten-off moan was _exactly_ what Yuuri wanted. It trailed off into an impassioned whine as Yuuri’s mouth moved to the juncture of his shoulder and neck, then ascended the notches of his throat.

“Yuuri,” Victor breathed, leaning into every heated touch, his injured leg hooking over the back of Yuuri’s knee, keeping it elevated and out of the way. Yuuri instinctively reached to support his thigh, hitch it higher and push in closer. Victor’s nails dug into the divots in between Yuuri’s ribs. Yuuri bit his way across Victor’s jaw until he reached his mouth. Victor’s kisses were something new like this—dirty, desperate, everything they couldn’t do in front of anyone else, but had never quite realized they were hiding.

For the first time since they had gotten home, Yuuri felt that same familiar presence in his brain, and it was _aching_. God, Yuuri was starting to ache, too.

But he had to think with his brain instead of his heart, instead of his dick. Victor needed medical attention, and now was not the time for making out against a wall. So bit by bit, Yuuri pulled back until their mouths were separate, until Victor’s insistent little tilts of his chin were just out of reach. “Shh,” Yuuri whispered, and knew his own eyes must be dark and glittering like Victor’s own. “Let me take care of you first.”

Victor rumbled unsatisfied acceptance, his head clunking back just a _little_ too hard against the tile. But when Yuuri’s hand found the small of his back and pulled him tight to turn him around, Victor seemed _more_ than willing to hold on just as tight, to nuzzle into Yuuri’s thrumming pulse and let his lips, too, feel it in longing.

“Lean against me,” Yuuri said softly, heart edging its way up into his mouth as Victor trustingly did so with his arms around Yuuri’s neck. They both froze when Yuuri’s hands trembled at Victor’s waistband, suddenly amateur; back at the very beginning. He could hardly remember the version of himself who had so casually commanded Victor to strip and to crawl into his bed for warmth. But was this not so very different?

Perhaps more indulgent, he had to acknowledge as Yuuri slipped his hands underneath the band and pushed them down. He left Victor’s briefs in place, at least for the moment—but that hardly seemed to matter when Yuuri said, “Hold onto my shoulders,” and knelt at his feet, dragging Victor’s pants and socks off one leg at a time.

Yuuri diligently did not look up, and kept his eyes on the task at hand, fingertips caressing Victor’s twitching, ticklish arch as Yuuri tossed the bundle in the same general direction of his clothes. His knees smarted against the unforgiving floor, but Yuuri leaned in regardless to drop a quick kiss to the inside of Victor’s injured leg. His tail swished slowly, back and forth across the cold tile. He tapped Victor’s ankle, tangled in the wet, mangled corpse of what used to be a truly attractive trench coat. “Lift.”

“Yuuri,” Victor said again, tortured.

And Yuuri—he was a Sacrifice, or would be one day. Victor’s, probably not. Yuuri would never know what it was to cast spells or direct light. He would only ever know power in command. And though Victor might not ever be his in name, Victor _was_ his to command, and his by _choice._ That _had_ to be stronger than fate. It had to be.

Yuuri turned his face up, ears attentively perked forward. Waiting. The half-hard swell of Victor’s cock was almost unbearably close, radiating blood-warmth through the thin dark cotton of his boxer briefs; if it weren’t for the fact they both needed to wash, Yuuri would already—

No. _No._ Focus.  “Vitya. Lift, please.”

This time he did, and Yuuri made quick work of extracting the fabric from around his feet, tossing it to the weyside to give Victor stable footing. It wouldn’t do to have either of them slip and fall when Yuuri was trying to help him, to make him better. Yuuri rewarded him with another press of lips a hand’s width higher and revelled in the _intensely_ interested noise Victor made in response.

“You’re going to kill me,” he said, head tipping back, blue eyes shuttered and closed off behind sleep-bruised lilac lids. Sometimes Yuuri wondered if it wasn’t just the blue of his eyes, so intense it filtered through.

But the sentiment was shared. Yuuri felt shaken, and whatever armor of sense he’d had before Victor was fractured, if not broken entirely. Loving Victor was both the process of coming apart and being put back together better than he’d been before, his kintsugi soul lined with gold in the absence of a claim in silver. Both were just as lasting. Victor would be with him forever, one way or another.

“I hope not,” Yuuri replied with a wan smile, and ran his hand over the curve of Victor’s calf, the bruises ending just below his knee. They looked painful. Yuuri wanted to lick them. “I want to get you cleaned up, wrap your wounds.” He eyed Victor’s arms doubtfully, his hands braced on Yuuri’s shoulders, still welling drops of blood that trickled down and threatened to pool on his skin. “Do you think those need stitches?”

That focused Victor’s attention on something other than Yuuri kneeling between his legs. “No, um, probably not. They just need to be bandaged, if you have gauze.”

Yuuri winced as he lifted himself from the ground and reached out with one hand for Victor’s waist as a counterbalance, his stinging knees protesting the demand he put on them, and his ears twitched with the pain. He stretched, righting himself and finding his footing. Yuuri held out his free hand and couldn’t believe his heart _still_ kicked up to double-time when Victor held it in his own. “I’ll get the first aid kit after we get you washed.”

Victor blinked slowly. His cheeks were faintly stained with pink, eyes still dark. “We?”

Yuuri took a step back, tugging Victor with him. He watched carefully, ready to spring forward if Victor fell—but his tentative step, though labored, held his weight. That was good. Nothing broken, then.

Yuuri’s gaze flickered up to meet Victor’s, and felt an answering flush rising beneath his skin. “That’s right,” he said softly, and his eyes fell to the floor again. His tail twitched behind him, hesitant as he found his words. “I want to make sure you’re okay. I want to take care of you. I know you don’t really need me, that you could patch yourself up and you probably have all your life. And I know that I’m not… I-I’m not…”

Yuuri felt tears well in his eyes. Damn it. _Damn_ it. This was not how he wanted this to go. He swallowed thickly and refused to blink, refused to look up. “I know I’m not your Sacrifice. But I don’t want you to be alone tonight, or _ever,_ or—”

Victor slipped his hand from Yuuri’s and cupped his face in both palms. The grime would smudge and transfer, Yuuri knew. One more way they would match, with desperate eyes and bloody faces; with kiss-bruised lips and lovelorn sighs.

The meeting of their mouths was slow, measured intimacy that Yuuri would love to melt into, but he had to push them both forward. It was only a matter of time before Victor crashed, and Yuuri needed to have him clean and bandaged and most importantly _upstairs_ before that happened.

“Come on,” Yuuri murmured into Victor’s kisses, each more lingering than the last, almost impossible to deny. “Are you going to let me do my job or what?”

Victor sighed ever so softly and turned his cheek to press against Yuuri’s. His skin was sticky; Yuuri could feel it in his own pores and knew that he was marked. His ears fluttered, tickling the side of Victor’s head. It drew a laugh from Victor’s swollen mouth, a fondness from his eyes. “If you insist, then yes.”

“I do,” Yuuri confirmed with a smile. “Do you need help walking?”

Victor hesitated, then shook his head. Yuuri carefully removed his hands to allow Victor to stand on his own. And then, quietly, “Just stay close to me.”

The words could have been a love song, so Yuuri answered with one of his own. His hand threaded into Victor’s again, simply holding for the sake of touch. “I’ll never leave.”

Yuuri grabbed a pair of bathing cloths off the shelf as they passed. Their feet were bare against the tile, which was damp as they entered the washing area—faucets set low on the wall, an adjustable wash arm with complimentary soaps and scrubs underneath. Individual stools for sitting, and a drain located beneath each. Yuuri guided Victor to one, and each step brought new heat to his cheeks, a frantic flick to his tail. He could feel heat spreading from his face down his neck as he turned to Victor, towels held nervously in his hands.

He swallowed and glanced down to Victor’s briefs. “You should probably take those off.”

Victor’s lips parted. His eyes dilated. His tongue darted out to taste the tinge of blood that had risen in the reopened crevice of his lower lip, but his eyes never left Yuuri—just traveled up and down the length of him. “And are you going to join me?”

Yuuri’s ears lowered with embarrassment, but only for a moment before they turned intently forward. “Would you like me to?”

Victor made a sound that was almost a groan, as disbelieving as it was fascinated. His matching flush was starting to spread down his throat, across his chest. The moment of arousal that Yuuri had dodged was back in full force. “Is that even a question?”

Yuuri couldn’t look away from that split in Victor’s lip, so red and raw—an entry wound that seemed like a window straight to his beating heart. He unconsciously licked his own in sympathy, and felt overwhelmed by the buzzing in his ears up until the moment he realized that it was not entirely his own.

Victor was feeling this, too.

Yuuri swallowed and bent to place the towels on the single bench, then stood and stepped forward. His hands shook as he placed them at Victor’s hips, rolling the very edge of Victor’s waistband beneath the pads of his fingers. He glanced down between them, and almost bit clear through his lip when he unconsciously swayed forward and their erections brushed through the cloth. “I–I, um. Oh.” The exhale was soft as a sigh as Victor’s fingers brushed over his belly, down to the front of Yuuri’s boxers, tracing the sparse, dark hairs that trailed down to the vee of his legs, still concealed.

Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut, and the next thing he knew, Victor’s hands were not at his hips, but gently removing his glasses. When he opened them, all he could see was Victor’s heated stare and his sentimental smile; he pushed the frames up Yuuri’s forehead until they sat atop his head, nestled safely just in front of his ears.

“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” Victor asked, warm but uncertain. Not a rejection; seeking reassurance. “Not because of–of Mila, or because your family knows about me, or any of that. Not because of tonight.”

It was as nice to have his glasses removed as it was intimidating; both because the world around them was blurred, his focus narrowed down to only what he could see. Only Victor. Yuuri took a breath and chuffed out a laugh. His ears folded down and he ducked his head, leaning forward until his forehead bumped Victor’s shoulder with silent affection. “Would you believe I wanted to do this before all that anyway?”

Victor went very still, voice soft. “Did you?”

And Yuuri, even more quietly, “Yeah. ‘Course I did. I do. I want you to be…”

He took a breath. He took another one. Part of it was easier to say with his face hidden, though his heart was pounding hard enough that he felt dizzy, the buzz at the back of his brain a frenzy of sensation and anticipation and arousal and longing and patience and love. Yuuri turned his head into Victor’s neck until his mouth brushed that pale, heat-flushed throat. Victor’s hands were warm on his lower back, broad spans of heat that left Yuuri tingling with promise.

“I want you to be the one I lose my ears with,” Yuuri confessed, and felt them shiver at the words, felt his tail twitch and coil around his own thigh. “Because I trust you and because I love you and I can’t imagine anyone else. Even if it’s not tonight. Even if it’s a week or a month or a year from now. Even though we should wait until your leg gets better, because I don’t want you to hurt. You’re the only one.”

Victor exhaled hard, fingers clenching convulsively and leaving sparking impressions on either side of Yuuri’s spine. He leaned down and his lips traced the very edge of one of Yuuri’s ears, wrenching a breathy noise straight from his gut. Victor trailed across the crown of his head to press worshipful kisses against Yuuri’s temple and cheek.

Yuuri felt cherished. Loved. And he knew without a doubt, in this moment and any other they shared, he was.

“But, um, maybe once we get upstairs,” Yuuri added with a breathless laugh, and rubbed his thumbs over the sharp cut of Victor’s hip bones. “And not in the public bathing area.”

Victor made an affectionate, amused noise of assent. “Don’t want anyone walking in on us?”

And before Yuuri could fully process the possessive flare in his hindbrain, before he could combat it or bite back the growl behind his teeth, he said, “No one else gets to see what I do to you. That’s just for us.”

A moment of silence, in which Yuuri feared he’d said too much, let his instincts get the better of him—and then Victor had pulled his face up fast enough to make him dizzy and kissed him wet and hard, fucking his tongue into Yuuri’s mouth so he could taste those words straight from the source.

And as suddenly as it came, it was over. The blue of Victor’s eyes were like eclipsed suns, swallowed by the black moons of his pupils with only the faintest flare around the edges. He bit out the words like they were trapped behind fangs, ready to bite—to mark Yuuri as his in more permanent ways than just handprints of blood on his face. “Okay. Anything you want.”

Yuuri swallowed, dry and labored. It was only his sensibilities that wanted them to be in privacy for something like this. His instincts would gladly have Victor right here.

Judging by the shaky moan, Victor damn well knew it.

But—no. Other things came first.

Yuuri pulled his hands away and internally stepped on the impassioned protests that came straight from his cock. He licked his lips as he turned his face away and pulled his glasses off, folding them in hand as he went to place them on the stool adjacent to their chosen station, safely out of the way.

“Strip,” Yuuri said as evenly as he could manage. His tail lashed from side to side, the very tip flickering and darting like a minnow in a stream. “And sit. Please.”

He heard more than he saw Victor’s shaky, steadying exhale; he felt a muscle in his jaw twitch at the near-silent sound of cloth hitting the floor. Victor carefully lowered himself onto the bench, his legs bent awkwardly due in part to his above-average height and the distracting situation between his legs.

Yuuri was determined not to give in. Not until he saw this through. And as such, he had to keep himself out of reach of Victor’s passionate hands, his searching lips. Just for a little while longer.

“Turn on the tap,” Yuuri instructed, and returned to stand behind Victor. With a shiver and a stolen moment of nervous silence, he pushed down his own boxers and stepped out of them, kicking them out of the way. Fair was fair. Swiftly after, Yuuri took one of the bathing cloths and spread it flat on the floor behind the bench; he grimaced as he knelt on bruised and busted knees, but didn’t complain. If Victor wouldn’t, he wouldn’t.

Victor did as he was told, but shivered in pleased surprise when Yuuri’s fingers found the knot of his hair, tangled in a circlet of elastic. Yuuri made himself busy with the task of picking apart the knot, dutifully ignoring the persistent, intermittent throb of his own arousal. If he ignored it, it would go away—or at least become more manageable. This moment wasn’t made for self-gratification, but for the comfort of the one he’d chosen to love and care for. Everything else could come when those needs had been filled.

He took a breath and let it out, in for four, out for eight. When he centered himself, he realized Victor’s back was bumpy with gooseflesh and intermittent little chills. Yuuri pressed his hand flat between Victor’s shoulder blades in a comforting, grounding touch. “Make sure the water’s warm enough, then pass me the wash hose, please. We’ll start at the top and move down. Makes more sense that way.”

Victor exhaled slowly, and it was a few moments before Yuuri realized he was syncing their breath together, whether consciously or unconsciously. The tip of Yuuri’s tail twitched against the floor; he smiled at the thought.

Victor cast a glance over his shoulder that seemed almost _shy_ , and handed the hose back to Yuuri as requested. Even so, Yuuri still tested the water—pleasantly warm. That was good. Yuuri stood to his full height on his knees and tapped Victor on the back. “Okay, we’re gonna get this thing out of your hair and we’ll move on from there. Tip your head back.”

He did so obligingly, beautifully, obediently; Yuuri leaned forward first to smooch the apple of his cheek, a purely affectionate gesture. He cupped his hand around Victor’s hairline to protect his eyes, and started to work.

There was something therapeutic about washing Victor’s hair, detangling the knots and massaging his scalp. It wasn’t just the way Victor hummed and sighed and dropped his head so trustingly into Yuuri’s palms. No—there was an intimacy to it that was somehow different than kissing and touching. It was nothing Yuuri could define or quantify, but it was somehow… more. Knowing that, if the world were fair, this would be how he and Victor could be together and share their lives in more than just stolen moments. The thought of being together day in and day out, and all that could mean for them.

So though Yuuri treasured Victor’s heated stares and worshipful kisses, he knew he would always remember this time, no matter how many days they spent together.

Even if this was the last.

The soap streamed in foamy rivulets down Victor’s back, over the (admittedly well-formed) curve of his ass and disappeared in a swirl of water. Yuuri swallowed when Victor pulled his hair forward over his shoulder with a warm, considering hum, and thoroughly worked conditioner into the ends. He leaned back until his spine met Yuuri’s chest, tipped his head back onto Yuuri’s shoulder with his eyes nearly closed in lazy, contented pleasure.

Yuuri took the cloth that Victor held loosely in his hands and started at his forehead, wiping outward in small, gentle strokes that wiped away the blood and dirt as if it had never been at all. Brow, cheeks, over fragile eyelids and his strong, angular jaw, Yuuri washed away all evidence of the violence Victor had seen and wrought tonight, and twin glimmers of blue watched him keenly all the while. It wasn’t until the water ran clear that Yuuri realized Victor’s hands had also gone still.

But Yuuri didn’t have words that seemed anywhere close to enough. Instead, he kissed Victor’s temple, easily within reach, and let himself sigh as his arms slipped around Victor from behind, palms smoothing over his chest. Victor hummed, slouching in Yuuri’s grip and silently welcoming his curiosity with a pleased but exhausted sort of satisfaction. His breathy sigh when Yuuri’s thumb brushed a nipple was a sweet jolt to Yuuri’s belly, a curious and satisfied churn that really had no time or place here, but—

“Feels nice,” Victor murmured, twisting his conditioner-slick hair into one long spiral, soft and slippery where it brushed against the back of Yuuri’s knuckles. Victor’s hands were still reddish-brown when he covered Yuuri’s with his own, piggybacking on sensation until the moment Yuuri ceased and tempted Victor’s fingers to twine with his.

Yuuri glanced down over Victor’s shoulder and sighed at the gorgeous picture he made—pale skin flushed with the heat of warm water and Yuuri’s touches, angular bone structure and toned muscles, a trail of silver hair leading from his navel to where his cock was still half-hard against his thigh. Their hands, tangled together, did not seek any further downward movement than the base of Victor’s sternum, anchored between his ribs. Like always, Victor seemed content to let Yuuri decide how things went, and at what pace. It was something Yuuri was immeasurably grateful for.

He wanted to touch. But first—

Yuuri carefully separated their hands, and turned Victor’s over in his own. He reached for soap and squeezed a small amount of herbal scrub into Victor’s palm, and swiftly massaged it in with his own thumbs.

More blood rinsed down the drain with Yuuri’s careful attentions. Without a proper scrub brush, there still might be residue beneath his fingernails tomorrow, but there was very little Yuuri could do about that. Instead, he made himself busy cleaning away the worst, rubbing carefully and rinsing diligently in equal turns until all that remained were the jagged, uneven punctures that marred the tender undersides of Victor’s forearms. He was so incredibly lucky he hadn’t severed a major vein.

Yuuri was so damned _lucky_ he’d been with Victor. Who knew what could have happened if Victor had been caught truly alone? He shivered and his ears lowered at the thought, and lifted Victor’s clean hand to his mouth, pressed a fleeting kiss to the letters etched into Victor’s skin that had been revealed once more. Maybe it was just circumstance that had put Yuuri at his side to avoid a crueler fate. Perhaps it was fate that they’d been together at all.

The wounds were weeping sluggishly even still, fat drops of blood that rinsed away with the water. The fact that they hadn’t stopped yet worried him. Victor glanced up at him with soft eyes, then down to his own arms. He sighed quietly in contemplation. “I could probably glue them closed if I have to.”

Yuuri rested his temple against Victor’s, and they inspected the cuts together. “Let’s try compressing them when we’re done. If we can’t get the bleeding to stop, we’ll figure something else out.”

Victor hummed in agreement, and turned his eyes back up to Yuuri’s face. The light in his eyes was vulnerable—loving but uncertain, and hopeful all the same. “You were right, you know. I’ve never had anyone to help me before.”

Yuuri placed his hand atop Victor’s head, like Victor so often did when petting him. He followed the curve of his skull down to the nape of his neck, the side of his throat, across his shoulder, ran his fingers through the slippery-sodden strands of Victor’s hair and revelled in his shiver.

“To take care of you,” Yuuri supplied, and knew from that little thrum in his heart that he was right. Victor’s silence was an unnecessary answer.

Yuuri rinsed the conditioner out of Victor’s hair and smiled at how it streamed out against his skin with the force of the spray. He thanked the fact that the onsen supplied nearly endless hot water as an afterthought. He could easily languish with Victor here in this strange liminal space of ceramic tile and silence until both time and the heat ran out.

He wouldn’t, though. At least not tonight.

Yuuri handed the wash hose to Victor and slipped his hand between them, spread out flat over his mid spine. “Mm. Sit straight now.”

Victor did with a put-upon grumble of displeasure, though it swiftly surrendered to a sound of shock when Yuuri rounded Victor’s side and tapped his unbruised knee. His eyes were wide, lips slightly parted—truly surprised and caught off-guard. And still, he let his legs fall open for Yuuri to kneel between them.

“I,” Victor said, and stopped. He swallowed hard. Dropped the wash hose. His eyes squeezed closed. “Yuuri.”

Yuuri smiled to himself. His Vitya, ever-attempting to be a gentleman. And though it brought heat to Yuuri’s cheeks to be so close to Victor’s erect cock, this intimacy was theirs to share, free of fear and pain.

Well, perhaps a _little_ pain was necessary—Victor’s cuts and bruises, Yuuri’s aching and battered knees. Nothing they hadn’t suffered for one another, bleeding badges of honor.

But despite the anxious fluttering in Yuuri’s chest, the ringing in his ears, there was no need at all for fear. And with that in mind he took a breath and laid his head on Victor’s thigh ever so gently, mottled red and purple. The heat from it matched the wild heat in Yuuri’s flushed face, made even more distinct when Victor’s entire body jolted at the touch and his eyes flew open.

Victor’s answering moan was perhaps more frantic, panicked pain than pleasure—and not from the pressure, but from the very sight of him.

Yuuri’s heart was pounding. He was scared, but never of Victor. The newness of it all terrified  him, but he knew they needed this closeness. Perhaps they needed it now more than ever.

Yuuri smoothed his hand over Victor’s uninjured skin, knee to thigh to flank, a steady touch with constant, confident pressure. Wasn’t Victor supposed to be the steady one? The thought made Yuuri chuff out a laugh; Victor’s cock twitched at the warmth of his breath.

Victor cursed quietly. His eyes were rapt on Yuuri’s face, cracked open and raw and drinking him in like dry earth sipped from rain, pooling on the surface until it overwhelmed him all at once. But he and Victor—they, too, needed each other. It felt apt. It felt right.

Yuuri’s thumb made a slow circle on Victor’s waist, savoring the trembling muscle beneath the pad of his finger. His voice trembled just the same when he said, “You’re allowed to look at me, you know.”

Victor’s lower lip quivered. His hand, branded with that cursed name, shook as he reached out to touch Yuuri’s cheek. Yuuri blinked slowly, trusting, waiting, as Victor’s touch continued its path into his hair, cupped the back of his skull. His thumb pressed ever so gently at the base of Yuuri’s silk-soft ear, traced it in careful parabolic arcs.

And he did look.

Skimming the planes of Yuuri’s muscles with a ravenous gaze; the strong lines and the curves of him. The slope of his back. The soft folds of skin that his hunched posture created across his belly. The subtle gradient of Yuuri’s tan, fading from his sun-washed hands to the tender places oft concealed by his cotton armor, now stripped away and leaving him bare.

Victor followed the twitch of his ears, the shiver of his shoulders, the tight peaks of his nipples, the aching flesh of Yuuri’s cock, untouched. And lower—to Yuuri’s knees, red and purple, just like his. Yuuri’s tail, curved over his own thigh, flicking slowly with focus and patience.

He watched Victor as he was watched, and lifted his other hand to Victor’s mottled hip. Touch. So good. So honest. It was no wonder Yuuri had never shared it with anyone before. He couldn’t imagine ever wanting anyone to see him like Victor saw him. The thought of sharing this with more than one person was unbearable. Simultaneously, he never wanted to lose it—he wanted Victor to see him this way for the rest of his life. Just Victor. As long as they both shall live.

Yuuri bit back the words _I want to marry you_. He’d already said one impulsive thing tonight, and it had only led to pain. He would save these. Think about them. Make sure they were real and solid before he gave them away. Make sure Victor wouldn’t be stolen from him before Yuuri forfeited what was left of his heart.

Victor’s breath left him in a whimper, a wretched little sound that broke from behind his ribs and clawed up his throat. Yuuri’s fingers tightened, his heart replying soundlessly, reaching for its twin across the negligible space from carotid to carotid, because Victor was bleeding in a way that was less literal but so much more painful—

“I love you,” Victor said. His voice cracked.

Yuuri’s hands uncurled. He pet at Victor’s sides with open palms. Why did he sound so upset? Did he think Yuuri didn’t believe that? “I know,” Yuuri assured him earnestly.

_“No,”_ Victor said, and his forceful tone caused Yuuri to go still. Victor curled his hand in soft, dark hair, a gesture that from any other Yuuri would find threatening given his position. But not here. Not with Victor. Not even now.

“No,” he repeated. “You _can’t_ know. _I_ don’t even know. I’m losing my mind, Yuuri. Everything feels like so _much_ when I’m near you. People weren’t meant to feel like this, Yuuri, they _couldn’t_ have been. We’d all go insane. Love doesn’t even feel like the right word, I just… don’t know what else to call it.”

Victor’s grip softened. He seemed to realize his slip of violence all at once; his intense look crumbled, and he stroked his hand through Yuuri’s bangs and down his neck reverently. When it seemed to become too much, Victor closed his eyes again. But he could never close himself off completely.

“I carry you with me everywhere,” he admitted in a whisper. “Like you’re there with me wherever I go. The moments you’re gone. In my dreams, even when you sleep right next to me. I feel crazy. I keep having this one thought over and over when I think about you not being mine—that God made a mistake.”

And Yuuri—

—something clicked into place in his brain and his body at the same time. He couldn’t put a name on it, other than maybe calling it confidence. It didn’t feel like confidence, though; it felt like concurrent recklessness and peace. Insanity and clarity.

_Want._

Yuuri leaned in swiftly to press a soft kiss to the very base of Victor’s cock, the startled moan sparking a fire in his gut. He didn’t linger long; he rose up higher on his knees, nuzzling into the tender skin and firm softness of Victor’s belly, slipped his arms in a solid embrace around the trim curve of a pale waist. In his position, Yuuri could feel Victor’s erection twitch against his sternum as he kissed his way up Victor’s chest; rubbed his cheek against a flushed nipple, nibbled thoughtfully on a collarbone. Curved his hand around the back of Victor’s neck and tugged him down so Yuuri could taste the pounding pulse in his throat.

Standing as tall as he could manage with his ragged knees on the wet tile floor, Yuuri tipped his head up expectantly and purred with satisfaction when Victor seized his mouth in a gasping, claiming kiss.

_Wet._ Fuck, hungry; _starving._ Victor’s tongue was hot and slick, and Yuuri’s desire was already on a knife’s edge of what was proper and what he _wanted._

“If there is a God,” Yuuri said between slips of Victor’s tongue, moaned heatedly when Victor sucked his lower lip. “Cruel enough to do this to us—then their only mistake—was putting you near me—if they didn’t want—me to have you.”

Victor’s hands cupped Yuuri’s face with blatant, blasphemous worship as they pulled apart. He touched Yuuri’s mouth with shaking fingers, his cheek, his nose, his eyelids, his temples. Yuuri knew he must still be a mess. He wanted to rectify that as soon as possible and get the hell out of this wide open space, patch Victor’s remaining wounds and sequester away in his room where _this_ side of them had started, and where they were most at home.

“Let me wash my face and we can go upstairs, okay?” Yuuri said, and leaned his cheek into Victor’s hold.

Victor nibbled his own lip; it was bleeding sluggishly again. Yuuri wondered if they’d ever be able to stop kissing for long enough for him to heal properly. If it would scar, a silver crescent moon as a ribbon of valor that said _lover and protector. Fighter._

Victor cupped his jaw, stroked his thumb over Yuuri’s cheek. “Can I?”

Yuuri blinked. His tail looped in surprise; his ears, oversensitized, felt like they’d never stopped twitching at all. “Y-yeah. If you want to.” Yuuri glanced down to the cloth in his hand. “It’s still dirty, though. And the other one was on the floor—”

Victor huffed a laugh. He leaned back and reached for the herbal soap, then poured just a few drops into his wet hands. “I think I can manage,” he said with a smile, and reached out with careful fingers to scrub tiny, gentle circles into Yuuri’s skin.

Yuuri closed his eyes. Everything smelled like mint and sweetness, tingling eucalyptus; the same scrub the onsen had been supplying for years, and that Yuuri knew he would never associate with anything other than Victor ever again. It felt odd, being so spoiled—though Victor would probably say _cherished_ , and Yuuri wondered if he could _ever_ go back to being alone after this. Probably not. Nor did he want to.

Victor smoothed a crinkle from his brow. His voice was warm when he said, “I’m not gonna get soap in your eyes, Yuuri,” and Yuuri wished that was what he was worrying about. Something so simple as a temporary, stinging pain instead of what would be a debilitating injury of the soul.

And then, through the dark, “We’ll figure it out, my love. You’re taking care of me. Let me take care of you, too.”

Yuuri took a breath and nodded once, slowly cataloguing his tension from head to toe and forcing his face, his back, his shoulders to relax. Pliant and warm under Victor’s touch, he didn’t hesitate when Victor said, “Okay, cup your palms together and you can rinse.”

The water was soothing as Yuuri splashed and rubbed his face and felt the patina of dirt wash away down the drain. He blinked, and the world came into focus as much as it could without his glasses. He could see well enough, though—he could see Victor, and that was really all that mattered right now.

Victor glanced down between their bodies, contemplative—more tender than heated. “We should flush out your knees. You really shouldn’t have been straining them.”

Logically, Yuuri knew that. But his body had been buzzing and Victor had needed him, so he had answered the call. It was all he could do. All he could ever do.

But as Victor offered him a hand and they both struggled to their feet, Yuuri swayed forward; his own body (still mostly dry) and Victor’s (dripping wet) came together somewhere in the middle, chilled skin submitting to the heat of physical touch. Yuuri slipped into his arms, just for a moment, and felt the shapes of their bare bodies fully together for the first time. The way his face fit into Victor’s neck. The way Victor’s arms felt around his shoulders, and Yuuri’s around his waist. The way their hair stuck to each other’s skin. The way their hips slotted together, so close, so warm. The tangle of their legs as they struggled to stand and consume the same space while debating the merits of absorbing one another entirely. One entity in two bodies. Two halves made whole.

The moment passed when Victor shivered—standing nude and wet lent itself to chills, it seemed.  They should really get dressed; move upstairs, even. Find their place in Yuuri’s room again. Despite it all, Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to wish this night had never happened. For better or for worse, it brought them here, to _this._

Yuuri leaned up for a kiss, just one, just for a moment. His ears were perked forward, and his tail was uncomfortably soaked with bath water, but he knew it was true; he wouldn’t trade this for anything.

“It was worth it,” Yuuri said, and he smiled.

 

* * *

 

They wrapped themselves in the lightweight white visitor’s robes, and Yuuri made quick work of hiding their clothes; he’d take care of them properly tomorrow. Some things could wait until the sun, but Victor’s wounds couldn’t.

They bundled into Yuuri’s room with the first aid kit, and with very little circumstance stripped back down, the robes congealing in formless puddles on the floor. It was easier to apply bandages without obstructions, and there was little to be shy about anymore. Yuuri hissed and cringed his way through Victor disinfecting his knees (perhaps more in the hope of receiving a comforting touch than actual pain). Victor kept a steady face as Yuuri swabbed the cuts on his forearms and compressed them until the bleeding stopped. He had to undo some of Yuuri’s clumsier wrapping, but he did it with an affectionate smile.

It bothered him how easily Victor treated his own wounds. It made him think of Mari at Yuri’s age, hiding in the bathroom at midnight, cursing under her breath as she contorted herself to lay bandages over scratches. Yuuri had been too young at ten to understand a sixteen year old’s problems, especially in a situation so foreign. It was only now that he knew where those marks had come from, and why Mari had borne them at all. It made Yuuri feel both enthralled and terrified that Victor wore _these_ marks for _him._

Though ensconced in the safety of Yuuri’s room, being bathed in the glow from his own lamp somehow made him feel more naked than he had felt before. Maybe it was going without the protective layer his glasses had always afforded him, folded safely atop his desk. Maybe it was the absence of the sound of running water, when all that was between them was silence. Maybe it was because their other tasks were completed, and they were left with the infinite options of having nothing that needed to be done.

Yuuri leaned over the side of the bed to place the first aid kit on the floor; it sank into a tide of white cotton. Victor sat across from him, arms wrapped from wrists to elbows, a few superficial scrapes covered with individual band-aids. His leg still looked swollen and painful, and Yuuri stared at it regretfully (and not at the fact that Victor, and he as well, were still half-hard from having their hands on each other, taking care of each other, no. Not that at all). “I should get you an ice pack, but we don’t have anything big enough.”

Victor smiled back ruefully, and tucked a strand of his bangs behind one flushed, pink ear. He leaned back on his hands, silver hair falling in waves around him, the ends getting stuck in the tape and gauze at his elbows. He didn’t seem to notice. On anyone else, Yuuri would have thought the display deliberately prideful, showing off the elongated form of his body. On Victor, though, right here and right now, he just looked clean but roughed-up, lovingly exhausted.

“I’ll find some cold compresses tomorrow, but this is good enough for now.” His arms gave out underneath him, and Victor landed with a huff of breath on Yuuri’s pillow. His sigh turned into a moan, purely worn-out—but Yuuri went still as stone, even as Victor wiggled in place to get comfortable.

His mouth felt dry. That sparking desire he’d felt before was creeping back, electrifying his skin. Yuuri’s ears swiveled intently forward, and he clenched his hands into fists where they rested atop his own bandaged knees. He swallowed, and it was loud in the silent room.

Victor’s eyes rose to meet his.

They met and held.

Victor tipped his head to the side, exposing the pale and pretty curve of his neck. He blinked slowly in consideration, and warmth bloomed into heat. “All you have to do is ask, Yuuri,” Victor murmured. “But it’s up to you.”

Yuuri took a deep breath and let it out. “I already said I wanted you once tonight,” Yuuri replied with a small, teasing smirk. It was all he could manage with the sound of his own heart in his ears. “You’re gonna get greedy.”

Victor’s eyes glimmered, and his bow-lipped smile was truly pleased. He reached out his hand—name down, palm up. “For you? Always.”

Yuuri did not take his hand so much as he crawled into it, nosing at Victor’s lifeline as he ventured up his body. Victor stroked his cheek as soon as Yuuri was close enough, guided him closer and sank contentedly into Yuuri’s mattress as Yuuri pressed him down with a kiss.

Victor’s eyes cracked open as he reached up, started at the base of Yuuri’s throat and slid down the plane of his chest. Yuuri shivered as Victor thumbed casually over one of his nipples and continued his exploratory journey over the valleys of Yuuri’s ribs. “You’re so beautiful, Yuuri,” he said softly.

It felt like a kick in the chest. Yuuri hovered over him and stared down at Victor’s face, so different from his own, but one he’d always admired. The moment was surreal. So surreal that he sat back on his haunches, his weight carefully distributed across Victor’s thighs.

Victor blinked up at him, slightly stung and clearly surprised. But before he could say anything, Yuuri said, “I’ve always thought that about you. Always. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you. I don’t think I’ve ever said it out loud.”

Victor’s lips parted without a sound. He stared at Yuuri with wide eyes, and Yuuri stared back. He almost scrambled back when Victor started to push himself up, but the foreknowledge of Victor’s exhausted body caused him to reach out instead, support his waist until they sat together with Yuuri self-consciously seated in his lap. Yuuri made a soft, involuntary sound at the friction. He clutched at the muscles of Victor’s back, but did not look away.

Victor’s gaze was as intense as it was vulnerable. His pupils were dilated. “Once,” he said. “You told me once.”

Yuuri scanned all recent memories for times it might have slipped out and came up empty. Just the repetitive thoughts of affection and adoration never made tangible. He shifted again and bright sparks danced behind his eyes, fizzled like firecrackers through his nerves and his brain. “When?”

Slowly, deliberately, Victor held his eyes as he rolled his hips. Yuuri’s answering moan broke open the silence, quiet little noise that it was. He was so damn thankful his bedroom was near the storage area instead of the guest rooms. Victor stared at him and pressed his hands flat to Yuuri’s chest. Dragged them down, skittered across his belly in a way that made Yuuri’s muscles and his cock twitch.

“When we met,” Victor answered. He swallowed tightly and closed his eyes for a long second, the memory coming to mind and shimmering between them like water. Yuuri struggled to pull it to the forefront in the beginning stages of a pleasure haze; the shape of it all was indistinct. “The first day,” Victor added. He shifted and pressed against Yuuri again. His voice went breathy. “When I showed you my name, you told me it was beautiful.”

Yuuri let out a shivery sigh and rocked down against the heat of Victor’s cock, savoring it against his skin. Oh. _Oh._ “That’s different,” Yuuri panted, too sharp. Again, too sharp. He forced the words together, to clarify his meaning, even as his ears flattened and he bared his teeth with the strain. “I meant you. _You’re_ beautiful.”

Victor reached for him suddenly and twined his fingers into Yuuri’s hair. He held him in place with one and gripped Yuuri’s hip with the other, guiding him in a slow, sinuous grind that had both of their eyes blown-black and Yuuri’s tail writhing in ticklish trails across Victor’s calves. “You— _mmh,”_ Victor moaned. “You make me feel like I am.”

And Yuuri, he—he wanted—

_“Nngh,”_ Yuuri whined as he reached between them to grip Victor’s erection, reposition it slightly so it lined up with his own. It _felt_ huge in his hand, though that was probably the unfamiliarity of touching a cock that was not his own. He’d never had reason to try before. The thought made him bark out a laugh that faded into a moan when Victor’s mouth found his neck and _sucked._

The feeling of Victor’s tongue against his jugular made Yuuri’s fingers spasm, tightening around them both. Victor bucked upward at the feel of it. Whatever mark he was leaving was _deep_. Yuuri could already tell by the way it throbbed in time with the beat of his heart, with the grind of their cocks.

Yuuri forced his eyes open and looked down between them, at the slide of blood-heavy shafts between Yuuri’s trembling fingers and the trap of their own abs. His mouth fell open on a terrible, quaking sound that could not even be categorized as a whimper. It was something else. Something animal. Yuuri’s forehead fell to impact with Victor’s shoulder, and in that bare half-second when it seemed Yuuri’s throat might pull away from his mouth, Victor bit down.

_“Fuck!”_ Yuuri swore and wriggled, ears folded back and his tail arching up; Victor’s grip on his hip slipped around immediately, spread wide and hot over the base of Yuuri’s spine. Yuuri rocked his hips _hard_ and got the sensation he was seeking—Victor’s thumb sweeping against the base of his tail, and setting every nerve on fire along the way. “Oh, ha _ah–aaaaa, fuck._ ”  

The slow circles were maddening, electrifying, shooting from Yuuri’s tail to the tips of his toes, to the unrestrained and unstoppable quiver of his ears. But despite Victor’s sensational cruelty, Yuuri could give as good as he got. He slackened his grip and twisted his wrist, the slow drip of their mingled precome making the gesture slick, slippery, so fucking _good._

Victor’s jaw unclenched as he keened, lapping at the ring of bright red indentations he’d surely left behind. Yuuri’s electric nerves analyzed it in an instant—no blood? Not a concern. His ears snapped forward with a vengeance, and Yuuri set about leaving marks of his own—quick, shallow, sharp nips across the crest of Victor’s shoulder, none deep enough to bruise, but all of them enough to sting.

Fuck, he was _leaking._ He felt the drip of fluid glide down the inside of his wrist as he stroked them together, likely puddling on the sheets. That was fine. He had other things on his mind. Then Victor reared his head back to nibble at one of Yuuri’s ears in recompense, and he had nothing on his mind at all.

Yuuri’s body went slack in Victor’s hands, head tossed back as a long, low moan crackled out of his chest. He sounded rough. He sounded _wrecked._

And Victor’s eyes were so terribly, terribly dark.

Yuuri found himself on his back in an instant, bouncing against his own mattress as Victor flipped them with careless strength. He crawled up Yuuri’s body and held his jaw steady, dipping his tongue into the open mouth that waited, panting, for him to return. Yuuri’s head felt heavy, so heavy, and Victor’s touch was bright, white light that sparked across his skin. His tail was trapped beneath him, but maybe that was for the best so Victor couldn’t torture him with it. Yuuri’s entire body twitched and jolted as the very tips of Victor’s hair ghosted over his body, while so cruelly denying him the contact he craved—holding himself up on all fours, hovering, but not allowing Yuuri to be crushed as he wanted to be crushed, to be consumed as he wanted to be consumed.

Yuuri _had_ to force himself back into his head. He _had_ to ask for what he wanted, or he might just die. But when he got his eyes to focus, all he saw was Victor pulling away, walking himself back on his hands, the tendrils of his bangs _dragging_ across Yuuri’s heated skin as he dipped his head to lap at one dark, peaked nipple.

Victor moaned as Yuuri moaned. That was about ten fucking times worse.

“Vit _–ya,_ ” Yuuri keened, reaching blindly, desperately for him. His hand only connected with Victor’s bicep, but he squeezed it for all he was worth. “You–you’re.” Yuuri dissolved into aching,  breathless, ironic laughter as he echoed Victor’s own words back at him. “You’re gonna kill me.”

And Victor—

—he looked up at Yuuri with shocked blue eyes that swiftly crinkled around the corners, cloudy with lust but _present_ in a way he hadn’t been since they’d started. And as he started to laugh, he dropped his forehead against Yuuri’s sternum, creating silver oases all over Yuuri’s chest. Yuuri could feel his laughter in his bones, and it was only because he knew Victor so well that he knew he wasn’t being laughed at, but rather that Victor was laughing at himself.

Victor dropped a tender kiss between Yuuri’s pectorals and reached an arm back to sweep all his hair up and over to one side. Like this, it formed a waterfall of moonlight that Yuuri itched to touch. And why not? Yuuri slipped his fingers through the fall of Victor’s hair, brushing against the edges of his face, his soul finding comfort at the contented, loving, instinctive sound Victor made in response.

But his body was still made of kindling, and Yuuri was aching to burn.

He rolled his head back, felt his ears trembling as hard as his hands, twitching like his neglected cock. Yuuri let out a helpless moan as he brought his eyes back to Victor, just _hoping_ he’d get it. _Begging_ him to have mercy.

“Please,” Yuuri whispered. _“Please.”_

Victor smoothed a hand over Yuuri’s quivering flank with a dark expression, primal, that still held a mote of wonder. “Can I—?”

_“Yes,”_ Yuuri interrupted.

Victor made a sound of amusement. “I haven’t even asked yet.”

Yuuri’s head thrashed to the side. He could feel his tail attempting to echo it, trapped underneath his own weight. It was driving him fucking _crazy._ He threw his hands up over his face and dragged them down. “You’re terrible. Awful. The _worst,_ Vitya.”

Victor grinned a wolf’s smile, and Yuuri was the rabbit heart between his jaws. “You were right about my leg,” he said simply, not taking the time to meander through conversational pleasantries. His hand slipped from Yuuri’s waist to trace nonsensical shapes on his tender belly. Yuuri was going to kill _him_ instead. “What you said earlier. It won’t hold me for long. Some of this will have to wait. Let me make it up to you.” Victor licked his bruised-red lips, and his eyes flickered to Yuuri’s dripping, _pulsing_ cock. Yuuri saw the tight roll of his throat as he swallowed. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse. _“Please.”_

Yuuri gasped out a breath that sounded like a sob and nodded as his words failed him. That was perfectly alright—Victor didn’t give him a chance to come up with words, anyway.

Victor lapped at his cock from root to tip before Yuuri could _think,_ before he could prepare himself for wet heat and a clever mouth. Sucking kisses at the base. Tracing the veins with the tip of his tongue. The feral jolt of pleasure when Victor got impatient; he pushed Yuuri’s legs apart so he could lie between them. The ache in quivering thighs stretched wide. The cold, keening intimacy of being exposed.

Yuuri bit down on the backs of his own knuckles, and couldn’t help but toss his head restlessly as crash after crash of pleasure overtook him and dragged him under. At some point, one leg ended up hooked over Victor’s shoulder, his heel digging into Victor’s spine. His spare hand braced against the headboard behind him. Yuuri’s back bowed off the bed in an arc that would make any dancer proud.

And if Victor’s mouth was heaven, his stroking fingers were torture. To be held so wide open that his skin grew chilled, contrasted with the heat of Victor’s palm kneading his thighs, caressing his balls, rubbing small circles on the flesh just behind them, but stopping just short of touching Yuuri’s hole—it was the cruellest, sweetest kind of torment, and Yuuri’s eyes burned with it.

“Vitya, please,” he whimpered. The light was building behind his eyes, streaking pleasure through his skin. Yuuri’s muscles contracted, and his leg locked over Victor’s shoulder whether he liked it or not.

That clever, smug flash of blue told him he liked it very much, indeed. Yuuri’s nails scrabbled at the headboard, but there was nothing to hold. His other hand flailed uselessly up until the moment Victor released his spreading push on Yuuri’s thigh and snatched it in his own.

“ _Ohhh,_ god, Vitya, _plea—_ nnnngh, _please—fuck! Ahh—_ ”

Yuuri’s leg prickled with the renewed freedom—his tail lay pinned and immobilized in pained overstimulation—tears clung to Yuuri’s lashes as he sobbed with sensation, at the white noise in his head, leaving him wild-eyed and frantic—Yuuri swore and bucked, reduced to instinct—Victor pushed Yuuri’s hand into his hair and released his wrist, pinning Yuuri’s hips down with his whole bandaged forearm—

Lucidity struck him for one moment before the fall; Yuuri’s hand shook but did not grab, tremulously pushing Victor’s hair back so he could see his face, and Victor moaned gently around the head of Yuuri’s cock as his eyes flickered up again—

And Yuuri fell apart.

The light behind his eyes went rainbow supernova and he moaned in breathless, broken ribbons of sound that bound every muscle in his body. The tension was incredible, the feeling indescribable. He cracked open, not one person or two or anything at all.

When Yuuri came back to his mind, every limb was shaking. His voice was shattered. Victor hovered over him, touching his cheek, wild arousal warring with haughty pride and burning concern. “Yuuri?”

Yuuri felt fractured. Unmoored. He stared at Victor with the remnants of pleasure singing through him, bright in his blood. He tipped his head up for a kiss and received one that had just a little too much edge; he broke away and glanced between their bodies and, oh, _that_ was why.

Yuuri didn’t ask. He was selfish, after all.

He flipped them over with a sudden burst of speed, and was convinced that it was only because of Victor’s worry for him that he’d gotten the drop on his lover at all. Finally freed, Yuuri’s tail lashed with self-satisfaction and pinpricks of feeling as he pushed himself down Victor’s body, scraping his teeth over his belly and curled his hands around sharp hip bones. He got his knees underneath his own weight and grinned with exhausted victory; he pulled Victor down and spread Victor’s thighs around his hips. Yuuri took one look at his wild eyes and slackened jaw, then promptly used his dancer’s flexibility to fold himself in half. He sank his mouth around Victor’s shaft with determined curiosity, doing his best to mimic the things that had short-circuited his own brain.

The tang of precome was strong on his tongue, the taste of Victor’s skin a distant afterthought. What struck him was the feeling, the warmth, the intimacy. The sound of Victor’s whines and moans made Yuuri’s ears tremble and tingle, sent shivers down his spine, though it was much too soon for him to grow aroused again. He hadn’t even stopped shaking yet, and he was determined to reduce Victor to pieces just like him.

They could pick up their shards together, but only _after_ Yuuri had broken him.

If he wasn’t being so terribly cautious of his teeth, he would snarl. Instead, he curled his fist around what his mouth couldn’t reach and proved himself a damn quick study.

“ _Haaahhhhnnnn_ , oh god, Yuu— _Yuuri—_ ”

He could feel Victor’s hesitance like a storm in the air, his concern, his worry warring with arousal, and that was the _last_ thing Yuuri wanted. His ears flattened, terribly possessive, and he slid his free hand up Victor’s abs, drifting toward his hip, and—

Victor threaded their fingers together and gave Yuuri a tentative squeeze. A silent _ok?_ And Yuuri found that little voice and _grabbed_ it, wrapped it in his contentment and his pleasure and the tremble in his bones and answered, _we’re okay, we’re okay._

Victor’s moan caught in his chest when Yuuri glanced up, and that was it. The killing strike.

Victor’s head fell back and his hand tightened convulsively around Yuuri’s. His hips twitched and caught Yuuri off-guard; he gagged a little in response, just enough to have to pull back and cough with wide-eyes, but he was determined not to let his inexperience ruin this. Victor’s cock pulsed in his fist and Yuuri stroked him through it, doing his very best to copy all the things he liked when he’d done this himself. By the pitch of Victor’s moans, he’d done more than a satisfactory job, but it wasn’t enough. Not for him.

Yuuri leaned back down, heedless of his hand coated in Victor’s come, and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the head of his erection—flushed nearly purple as Yuuri pushed back his foreskin with smug pleasure and licked him clean.

Victor hiccupped halfway through his broken cry and fell silent into trembling aftershocks. Yuuri nosed at his softening cock, gentle as he could be underneath the weight of animal, all-consuming pride. His ears perked forward, the pleased little shivers making his scalp and spine tingle, and pressed his face into the bruised curve of Victor’s hip with an apologetic kiss.

Yuuri nuzzled his way up to Victor’s stomach, but let his hands fall back to stroke Victor’s thighs. He lowered them down to the mattress one at a time, then skimmed his hands up to Victor’s waist. Yuuri’s fingers trembled in time to the jumps of Victor’s muscles right under his skin.

When they locked eyes, Yuuri knew they both were lost.

Victor’s lip quivered as he held out his arms, his body a six foot monument to the wreck Yuuri had made of him. He tried not to grin as he fit himself into Victor’s embrace (and very likely failed). By the time Victor drew him close, their sweat-damp foreheads and sticky bodies pressed together, they were _both_ smiling like idiots.

Victor slipped his unmarked hand under Yuuri’s head, curving around his cheek. His right hand found Yuuri’s, which was pinned between their chests against Victor’s beating heart. He turned it over in his own, and his smile only flickered slightly when he found it to be bare.

Yuuri’s heart clenched. Even after every indication of the terrible truth, they both still found themselves disappointed by hope.

But Yuuri was determined not to be disappointed tonight.

He leaned forward for a kiss and tasted himself on Victor’s tongue; he allowed himself to be distracted by Victor’s hands on him, moving in long, languid pets that soothed his frazzled nerves.

“You always manage to surprise me,” Victor said softly, a complicated expression passing over his features. His hand slowed and stopped on its path, then formed a new one. It followed the slopes of Yuuri’s body and his back to the join of his tail, petting with the backs of his knuckles over the dark, silky fur. He smiled when Yuuri flushed and pushed his face into Victor’s neck, and took the given opportunity to press his lips against Yuuri’s fluttering ears.

Yuuri moaned softly, wrung-out and overwrought. But the reminder of his childlike features drew something else from him this time—rather than embarrassment or dissolving into flustered stutters, Yuuri blinked and let his palms travel up Victor’s back, into his hair, until they wove into the locks at Victor’s temples, one above and one below his resting head. Victor pulled back to meet Yuuri’s eyes, quietly curious, waiting to see what he’d do.

So Yuuri curved his thumbs over the crown of Victor’s skull and felt for the faint raised lines with his fingertips. When Victor realized what Yuuri was looking for (and found and traced with gentle reverence) his eyes squeezed closed.

Yuuri tilted his chin up and touched his lips to Victor’s cheek. He traced those faint scars for a few moments more, the only remaining sign of the child Victor had once been. He was hardly that anymore. Truth be told, after the events of tonight, Yuuri didn’t much feel like a child, either.

He sighed. His hands fell away, then wrapped around Victor properly. Yuuri allowed himself to linger until the heaviness of his eyelids could not be ignored.

“I’m gonna turn the light off,” Yuuri murmured. It still took a good ten seconds before Victor’s embrace started to loosen at all. Yuuri smiled affectionately—his soft, sentimental love. He was lucky, so lucky. When he pulled away, even for just a moment, he hated every inch of distance between Victor’s warmth and his own.

Yuuri rolled over and off the bed with a sigh, taking only a moment to set an alarm for the late morning—luckily his first class would not be until ten, or with his lack of sleep he’d be in all sorts of trouble for an earlier morning. Yuuri didn’t deal with exhaustion well, and never had. It was one of the reasons that the peace of sleeping beside Victor was so precious to him.

He turned again, back to Victor spread out across the very top blanket, and chuffed out a laugh. “Come on,” Yuuri said. “Get up. We should pull that top layer off before it makes a mess. I’ll wash it all tomorrow, so just get in.” He offered an indulgent, soppy smile. He supposed he couldn’t help it. “We’ll be warmer that way. It’s cold out tonight.”

Victor offered a wry smile. “Yes, I’m aware.” He groaned slightly as he got up, wobbling on his feet; Yuuri caught him with an arm around his waist, and affectionately bumped his temple against Victor’s cheek as he dragged the top blanket away. Luckily those remaining underneath would be warm enough with the combined heat of their bodies.

Victor kissed the top of Yuuri’s head. His ears tingled and twitched, and Yuuri grinned. “Just get in there.”

Victor reached over Yuuri to pluck a hair elastic from next to Yuuri’s glasses atop the desk. Truth be told, Yuuri wasn’t sure when it had ended up there. It might have been tonight. It might’ve been days before. The thought left him inexplicably warm.

Victor hummed and flipped his head over, gathering the fall of his hair into a slightly-lopsided bun atop his crown. He climbed into Yuuri’s small full-sized bed with little pomp and circumstance, but made himself comfortable quickly. When he realized Yuuri hadn’t immediately followed, he turned and watched him with patient, loving eyes and a bittersweet smile.

Yuuri drank in the sight of him as best he could before he turned out the light and crawled in at Victor’s side. They shuffled into place until Yuuri felt contented. He sighed, leaning back into Victor’s chest. He reached for Victor’s hand and found it; twined their fingers together and let them rest on his belly. Their legs tucked together until they were perfect photo negatives.

He felt safe like this. He always felt safe with Victor. He hoped Victor felt safe with him, too.

“Don’t worry about Mari and Minako,” Yuuri murmured into the dark. “There’s nothing they can do. I won’t let them separate us. I won’t let anyone take you away from me.”

Victor’s arm tightened around him. He didn’t say anything at first, but Yuuri felt the press of a kiss against the nape of his neck. Victor’s grip was like a vise around his waist. “What if we don’t have a choice?”

Yuuri squeezed his hand, stroked over the back of it with his thumb. Right hand to right hand. He didn’t have to see the name in the dark to know it was what Victor had on his mind. “We always have a choice. If I choose you and you choose me, no one can take that away from us.”

Victor exhaled in a trembling sigh.

A thought occurred to Yuuri. It prickled across his scalp in an unpleasant shiver. He tried to keep his voice even. “Unless you don’t. I-if you find the one you’re supposed to be with and you’d rather—”

Victor’s arm squeezed to the point of near-pain. He pulled Yuuri back against him, closing every inch of space. He nosed at the side of Yuuri’s neck, trailed his lips up to Yuuri’s ear—the human one, sensitive and immobile, and gently nibbled at his earlobe. The sensation made Yuuri shudder, nerve-packed but unfamiliar—perhaps the most foreign thing he’d felt all night. He whined and the sound got caught in his throat. What came out was terribly raw.

It seemed Victor felt the same as he finally had mercy, placing kiss after kiss behind Yuuri’s ear, persistently reverent. “I would _not_ rather. There is no one else for me but you.”

He settled back down but remained as tightly wound. Yuuri pushed one of his legs back and hooked his foot around Victor’s calf, then nudged his leg up to rest between his own. The warmth and weight of every part of Victor surrounding him was grounding. It was the only thing keeping Yuuri from drifting into a rush of terrified thoughts that could not be stoppered inside a bottle like a figurine ship. They would not be able to be pulled apart, or rather pieced together, and analyzed later. His anxiety only ever left a mess behind, and he would _not_ let it make a mess of their love.

“I would…” Victor’s voice died out. He swallowed. “I would just want to know who it was. So they could know why I was going to disappoint them.”

Yuuri felt the metal tang of self-doubt at the back of his tongue. He was surprised to find that it was not entirely his own. He pulled their twined hands up to his neck, the reverse of what he had done so many nights before. Last time it was a claim on Victor. This time, it was for Yuuri.

Clearly Victor remembered as well. His fingers spread into a wide span, settling into a skin-warm collar around the base of his throat. Yuuri couldn’t see it, but he imagined how the word _Fated_ looked there with that loving, possessive hold.

He relaxed into it, let his fingertips linger at the flutter of a pulse in Victor’s wrist. The thought lulled something in him, and he felt his racing heart slow with the tranquility of being here like this with the one he loved. “Well, you’ll never disappoint me.”

Victor didn’t say anything at all, but he kissed the nape of Yuuri’s neck one last time, and it felt like a promise. Yuuri hoped it was. They would get through this together, as long as Victor allowed them to.

“I love you, Vitya,” Yuuri said. He made sure Victor could feel the words against the palm of his hand. He felt the thrum of Victor’s pulse speed slightly at his wrist and smiled to himself in the dark.

“I love you, too. So much.”

Yuuri was still smiling as he closed his eyes, as he relaxed into the warmth and heat of the space they shared, the tingling satisfaction that lingered in his spine. “I know.”

When he fell asleep, he wasn’t even aware of it, really. It was simply the events of the night catching up to them both. What he _was_ aware of was peace. Comfort.

But at the back of his mind, the lingering sense of Victor’s doubt.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri woke to sunlight streaming in the windows and an aching in his bones. He couldn’t even quite remember the reason for it, but knew that if he felt this pain, Victor must feel a hundred times worse—

_Victor._

Yuuri turned over. Victor wasn’t there.

Oh. Well, that was okay. Maybe he’d needed to get up, and there were only so many places in the onsen he could be. Yuuri rubbed his eyes blearily and sat upright, despite the twinge in his back. Maybe he’d fallen harder last night than he’d thought.

He pulled himself out of bed without any particular grace and put his glasses on. It was only once he did that he saw what they were sitting on—a folded piece of paper that had not been there the night before. Yuuri smiled to himself; he’d never seen Victor’s handwriting before. It seemed such a strangely intimate thing in retrospect, to know the way a person formed the words that carried their thoughts.

The letters were neat, but clearly rushed. There was a tilt to the letters that Yuuri took in before he absorbed them.

When he did, he went still.

> _I have to know. I love you. I’m sorry._

He read it again. And again, and again, and suddenly Yuuri realized that the presence in his head felt small and far away.

He preferred that thought to the sudden knowledge that no, he was being _blocked._

Yuuri snatched up his phone, and as he stalked toward his closet with his heart in his mouth, the screen lit up: 11:45am. He’d missed his class. His alarm had never gone off.

Or someone had turned it off.

His hands began to shake. What the hell was Victor doing? What was he thinking? He was much too injured to do anything stupid on his own, especially when Mila had said others would be coming after him. He couldn’t possibly hope to confront Lilia without knowing where she was, and _certainly_ not in his state.

Yuuri slid open the door to his closet, intent on finding the first somewhat presentable thing he could shove his body into and going to find Victor as soon as possible. With that in mind, he locked his phone screen and made to toss it onto the bed—

—and froze.

He stared. One quaking hand rose up to touch in tremulous disbelief.

They hadn’t even—it didn’t make any _sense._

But now that he was aware, it was all he could feel. Or _couldn’t_ feel.

Yuuri dropped his phone, and with it the spectre of his reflection. The screen cracked on impact.

He squeezed his eyes closed when he felt the sting of tears. He felt heavy, weighed down, dragged to the depths by an anchor called _love._ Breathless, like his heart and lungs were being crushed by the weight of flippant cruelty. Had Victor known and left Yuuri to wake up alone anyway? Or had he just not cared?

Yuuri sank to the floor and landed heavily on his rear, naked as the day he was born, minus something critical that could never be replaced:

His tail was gone.

So were his ears.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> **EDIT:** NAE HAS ALSO DONE A [SKETCH FOR THIS CHAPTER](https://maydei.tumblr.com/post/169636231182/he-stared-one-quaking-hand-rose-up-to-touch-in) AND I AM BLESSED.
> 
> please direct all screaming to the comment section or [my tumblr inbox](http://maydei.tumblr.com/ask). [reblog to crush the hearts of your friends](https://maydei.tumblr.com/post/169605906582/title-fated-pairing-victuuri-victor). <3


	17. Senseless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri rallies his support and tracks Victor down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to [Rae](http://extranikiforov.tumblr.com) for her amazing beta work. And thank you so, so much to everyone who has helped Fated break 10k hits and 700 kudos!! I seriously would not be here without you. You give me such incredible motivation to keep going. I would not have gotten this far without the love and support you've all shown me. <3 Here we return to the normal chapter length, but we're closing in on the end. There's only a handful of chapters left. Buckle up!
> 
> The BIGGEST shoutout to [dead-exitium](http://dead-exitium.tumblr.com) for their amazing Fated fanart that you can find [here (Yurio)](http://dead-exitium.tumblr.com/post/169707969667/i-couldnt-resist-the-urge-to-draw-plisetsky-with) and [here (and absolutely beautiful Vitya and Yuuri)](http://dead-exitium.tumblr.com/post/169348442192/small-attempt-to-draw-fanart-on-truly-beautiful). Rae also made a [fantastic graphic](http://extranikiforov.tumblr.com/post/169675154248/a-companion-playlist-for-maydeis-fic-fated) for my Fated playlist! [Check it out on Spotify!](https://open.spotify.com/user/maydaymaydei/playlist/6RWZ6AD42mM3IVjxi5UXJw)

 

 

 

It didn’t matter how quickly Yuuri dressed, nor in how many layers. All the way downstairs, he felt naked.

Even pulling the sweatshirt hood up over his head could not hide the fact that his ears were gone, and the lack of his tail was conspicuous as anything. Yuuri snuck as carefully as he could toward Yuri’s room with the sole intention of finding him and shaking him into bringing Yuuri to Victor—

—except that Yuri was not there. Otabek was gone.

Their things were gone, too.

Yuuri stood with his back against the wall of Yuri’s room for half a minute, taking it in. What it meant. What it could mean. And then he pulled out his phone. He didn’t bother texting Victor; he knew he wouldn’t answer.

He sent a text to Mari instead.

> >> victor’s gone. they’re all gone. I need you to bring me to goura ASAP.
> 
> << shit
> 
> << get here in 15 minutes.

Yuuri didn’t reply. Instead, he retreated to his room. His only winter coat was destroyed. It left him with few options. Yuuri pulled on Victor’s Olympic jacket over his own sweatshirt. It was far enough from his skin that he couldn’t feel the warmth. Yuuri’s only comfort was that Victor had left it behind. If he had meant to leave for good, he would have taken it with him.

...wouldn’t he?

Yuuri didn’t have time to sit around and debate the issue. Instead, he sent a text to the professor of the class he TA’d to let him know that Yuuri would not be in today, nor potentially tomorrow. He lied about having a cold, but figured his previous perfect attendance might end up catching him a break. He attached his pre-made lesson plans to the email, and hoped that would be enough to prove that he wasn’t slacking off.

Then he sent a message to Phichit.

> >> get to mari and minako’s in the next 15. we may need backup. victor’s gone.
> 
> << omg. are you okay??
> 
> >> just get there please

It was not the time for senseless worry. No. Now was the time for anger sharpened to a driving point, pushing Yuuri forward.

Victor had left him in search of answers? Yuuri would track him down and demand answers of his own.

With that thought in mind and a tense clamp around his heart, Yuuri snuck out of his home and jogged toward Mari and Minako’s apartment. He felt the ache of his body and the absence of his ears the whole way.

  


* * *

 

Yuuri lingered outside near Minako’s car for much longer than strictly necessary. He didn’t know what to say when they saw him, and it seemed like a foolish thing to see them unprepared. In the end, fate made the decision for him. Mari and Minako were carrying a bag of water bottles and snacks down to the car when they saw him standing there in a Russian Olympic jacket.

The sound of the bag hitting the ground made Yuuri flinch.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Mari’s footsteps echoed on the asphalt as she closed in on him, and Yuuri ducked his head—not in shame, because he was not ashamed, but because he was reluctant to be yelled at when his emotional state was already such a mess.

This was between him and Victor. It wasn’t anyone else’s business.

“Don’t,” Yuuri said softly, and winced at the sensation of those tiny muscles trying to move ears that no longer sat atop his head. His scalp was achingly tender, and would be for a while, if all accounts were to be believed. “Please don’t.”

Mari made a noise of frustration, but when Yuuri looked up, she looked…

...upset. _Really_ upset.

“He pushed you into this when you got home? After everything?” She kicked ferociously at a piece of gravel. It disappeared with a clatter under the car. “Yuuri. Please tell the truth. I know you were waiting for—”

“I don’t regret it.” Yuuri’s mouth felt numb, but the words were true. He closed his eyes and took a frigid, measured breath. The winter air centered him within his bones. He didn’t open his eyes to look at his sister. “I meant what I said. I love him. Don’t get me wrong—I’m mad as hell that he’s not here right now. But I love him.”

Mari said nothing. When Yuuri opened his eyes, she was staring helplessly at Minako; Minako was staring at Yuuri. Quiet. Contemplative. And then she said, not accusingly but very reasonably, “I think we both know it’s pretty soon for you to love him, Yuuri.”

Yuuri grit his teeth. He turned his face away and stared into the back seat of the car; wished he could rewind time to the night before and live it all over again if it meant he could hold Victor one more time. If it meant he could get out of having this conversation right here and right now. “I know. But it doesn’t feel soon. It feels about twenty-four years too late.”

Minako’s head tipped to the side. Her hair fell over her shoulder in a wave that reminded Yuuri too strongly of Victor, of the stream of hair over his shoulder, of Yuuri’s fingers woven into it and skimming across his chest and his back—

Yuuri rubbed his fists over his eyes, shoving his glasses up his forehead. He could already feel a headache coming on, along with all the other aches sinking so deep through his skeleton that he thought it might reach his soul.

“Look,” Yuuri said quietly to the bright mash of colors behind his eyes, to the dampened feeling at the back of his skull that was a slow wave coursing over his head, streaming out of his mouth, “This isn’t why I’m here. He’s headed for Lilia and probably planning something stupid. I need you to get me there so I can stop him. Between here and there, I really don’t want to talk about my ears. It happened. I would have been happy about it if I hadn’t woken up alone. So stop looking at me like that. It makes my skin crawl.”

Yuuri twitched his way through their silence. He was ready to have to defend himself, to lash out if he had to. But his head shot up, tiny muscles _screaming_ where they would have had his ears perking up and pointing forward, and Yuuri whipped around at the familiar flares of light he felt headed his way.

Phichit and Seung-Gil arrived at a jog—and ground to a halt. Yuuri met Phichit’s eyes, his slow blink, his sharp gaze, and finally looked away. Yuuri hated being forced to quantify his own decisions, to defend himself when there was no way to justify these things that didn’t make sense. He knew they didn’t make sense. None of it did. Nothing was rational, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t real and true and—

Phichit took in a breath that Yuuri only heard in the most abstract sense. His human ears were ringing so loudly that he almost didn’t hear his footsteps at all until Phichit marched right past Minako, right past Mari, and pulled Yuuri into a hug.

Yuuri jolted with surprise as his forehead hit Phichit’s shoulder. The hand on the back of his neck did not feel stifling or patronizing, but comforting and familiar. The other hand rubbed circles into Yuuri’s upper back and felt like a balm for the wounds that no one else could see. Yuuri hadn’t been sure whether they were bleeding or not until this moment.

He collapsed inward like a star, kept mercifully in orbit by the care of a friend, even in the absence of his anchor. Phichit, though smaller than him, was more than capable of holding Yuuri steady. He needed some stability right now.

“Did he hurt you?” Phichit murmured quietly, so quietly.

Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut. His glasses dug into his face, but he did not pull back enough to correct them. “No. Yes.” Yuuri swallowed hard, and pressed insistently against the wall in his mind. It did not budge. “He was perfect up until he was gone.”

Phichit made a quiet, sympathetic noise that managed not to sound patronizing. Just… real. Compassion that Yuuri could trust. “I’m sorry he left. He shouldn’t have done that.”

“Yeah. Yeah, well…” Yuuri took a breath. His hands clenched around Phichit’s upper arms. “I’m going to find him. And I’ll shake him for it when I do… no matter how injured he is.”

Yuuri stood tall. He rolled his shoulders and bit down the emotions clawing their way up his throat. He met Phichit’s eyes and his fierce resolve, his conviction in a tight, familiar smile; Seung-Gil’s quiet approval. And when Yuuri turned, his sister’s stricken expression and Minako’s watchful gaze.

“We should go,” Yuuri said evenly. “Even if they took public transportation, they have a pretty big lead. The sooner we get going, the sooner we’ll catch up to them.”

Mari swore quietly, her expression transforming into something dark. “I believe it of Victor. His friend, too. But I can’t believe Otabek would do something like this.”

“Can’t you?” Four pairs of eyes turned to Seung-Gil. He leveled each of them with a flat gaze in return, which only melted into softness when he focused on Phichit. He lifted and dropped one shoulder in a casual gesture—entirely measured. “All he knows about Nikiforov is what he’s been told by his brand new bondmate and what he’s seen with his own two eyes. No offense, but…”

Seung-Gil trailed off into conflicted silence. He raised his eyes to Mari once more. “You can’t imagine what it’s like to be a Fighter, alone. No sense of purpose. No orders to follow. No one to protect. Nowhere to direct your energy. When you find the one you need, it’s like everything snaps into place. Otabek’s been a lonely kid for a long time. ‘Til now.”

Mari’s frown was deep and dark until she turned to Minako. And Minako—

Minako looked down, eyes focused on her feet. Under the weight of her Sacrifice’s gaze, she offered only a slight nod, though she didn’t meet Mari’s eyes. “The force of a new bond can be overwhelming,” she said quietly. “We shouldn’t hold it against Otabek. We should just catch up as fast as we can to minimize the fallout.” When she finally did look up, her eyes were hard and determined. “Luckily, there’s no easy way to get to Goura without a car. We’ll have the advantage. And like Yuuri said, Victor is injured. He has no partner. We’ll be able to capture him without too much fuss—”

Blood rushed through Yuuri’s head. Capture Victor? _Capture_ him? And do _what_ with him? The thought turned his stomach.

Victor only wanted answers, but they were making him sound like a war criminal.

“No one’s _capturing_ Victor,” Yuuri snarled. The bodies around him went still, but he barely had the capacity to notice. “No one is going to hurt him further, assuming he’s still in one piece by the time I get to him. No one is going to _touch_ him except me.”

Minako turned to Yuuri. For the first time in recent memory, she looked legitimately angry with him. “You seriously underestimate what a dangerous person and opponent Victor Nikiforov can be. What you’re feeling isn’t who he is, Yuuri. You don’t know him.”

The fire in Yuuri rose up to meet her fury. He bared his teeth and took a step forward, against every better judgement and every thread of hurt that lingered since he had woken up alone. It didn’t matter. The hole in the back of his head was eating away at his heart, and Yuuri would fill it with whatever he could consume, Minako’s irritation included. “I know he’s been broken and bleeding since the day he showed up here. I know he’s terrified. I know he hurts. I know he’s been abandoned now by everyone he’s ever tried to love, and I know I will _not_ be the next person on that list, Minako-sensei. I don’t care about your _rules._ I don’t care what you _say._ I don’t care about _fate._ _You will take me to him. You will not attack him or challenge him. You will not touch him. Victor. Belongs. To Me.”_

Yuuri was still shaking when the silence caught up to him. When he took in Phichit’s wide-eyed gaze and Mari’s hand sealed over the nape of Minako’s neck. When every muscle in her body jolted hard, and she looked vaguely ill. When his sister tilted her head and stared at him with bright, familiar eyes, equally lit with ire and incredulity.

When she opened her mouth.

And the very moment Phichit cut in first. “Look. It’s an exciting day, I get it. Yuuri lost his ears and is apparently tapping into his inner Sacrifice and _pushing_ people now, Victor Nikiforov’s on his way to our home base, but I gotta be honest. I’m missing class for this. So can we go?”

Seung-Gil snorted. (Phichit shot back under his breath, “Shut up, I didn’t ask you.)

Yuuri’s eyes went wide. He had—?

And then Phichit slung an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders and yanked him around. “And now you know. It’s bad manners to command someone else’s Fighter, by the way. But it’s been a tough morning for you, so we forgive you. Oh _wow_ , nice hickey—okay, are we good here? Yes? Al– _right!_ Let’s roll!”

Blessed little was expected of Yuuri after that. He allowed himself to be shifted and moved, appropriately cowed (and flustered; he hadn’t noticed the hickey) in the back seat of Minako’s car, crammed in beside Seung-Gil and Phichit.

Mari shot him complicated glances in the rear view mirror, filled with questions that Yuuri did not have the answers to.

He stayed silent instead, rubbing his fingers over the worn cuffs of Victor’s Olympic jacket, and spent his time debating any of the thousand things he might say to Victor when they saw each other again.

Nothing seemed like enough.

 

* * *

 

The drive to Goura felt infinite when Yuuri was awake to experience it; it seemed impossible that he had done this only the day before. The trees, the roads, the vision of a finite autumn fading into winter—none of these things could comfort him. Instead, he closed his eyes and feigned sleep as he picked at that barricade at the back of his head. He didn’t have to break through, and knew he wouldn’t. He only wanted Victor to know that he was still very much there.

Yuuri didn’t realize when they had reached the town limits; he didn’t recognize it by sight, since he had never actually seen it. Instead, he felt the change in the air, in Phichit’s demeanor beside him, in the way Minako’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.

He cracked open his eyes. No one tried to talk to him; he figured they probably all knew he’d been awake all along. But what could they say? Yuuri was no longer a person they entirely knew. With the loss of his ears, he wasn’t even sure _he_ knew who he was anymore.

What had Victor made of him?

No. No, that wasn’t fair to Victor, or to Yuuri.

What had Yuuri made of _himself?_

Yuuri ducked his head down into the collar of Victor’s Olympic jacket, too small for Victor now, but just large enough that it fit comfortably over the other layers of Yuuri’s clothes. The scent of Victor had faded in the days he hadn’t worn it. Instead, it smelled like Yuuri. His home. His bed. The only comfort he found was in the thought that maybe Victor, too, smelled the same way. Maybe they’d just been pressed so close together for so long that Yuuri had failed to notice.

“I meant what I said before,” Yuuri said suddenly, cutting off Phichit’s chatter and Mari’s murmurs, drawing silence to the car. He waited until it stretched. Until they knew he was serious. “I don’t want anyone to touch Victor. I know he can be dangerous. I know you see him as a threat. But I need you to let me get to him first. I understand what he’s looking for, what he’s hoping to find. He wants answers, not a fight. But if you back him into a corner, he will lash out. He might be hurt, but he won’t go quietly if you press him.”

No one said anything for a moment. No one, until Mari. “I won’t let you risk yourself based on what you think you know.”

Yuuri’s jaw tightened. “I let him get close enough to lose my ears to him. I think that says that I know quite a bit.” Yuuri’s hands curled into fists on his knees. “I know you’ve noticed whose jacket I’m wearing. I’m not stupid, Mari. Neither are you.”

“But you’re not his Sacrifice, Yuuri,” Minako cut in. “You’ve met. You’ve obviously… interacted. You still don’t have the name.”

Yuuri couldn’t say anything for a moment. He swallowed to prevent himself from screaming. “He loves me without the name. I didn’t ask him to do that. He just… did.”

Minako sighed heavily, irritated. She mumbled something that sounded like _doesn’t make sense._

Seung-Gil sat up, leaned forward a little to peer around Phichit. “These things aren’t always instantaneous.”

“No, they’re not,” Phichit agreed. “But… it does seem unusual. It should have shown up by now. They’ve been close, you know? Yuuri’s showing signs of breaking out. We all know he’s something. But I’ve never seen a Fighter pulled toward someone else’s Sacrifice before.”

The only sound was the whirr of wheels on the road, the currents of their breathing. Yuuri _ached._

Minako said, “I have. Once.”

Agatsuma and Aoyagi. Yuuri closed his eyes. “My Fighter isn’t dead. I’m not like Ritsuka; my name isn’t _Loveless._ I know who I am.”

“You don’t know your name, Yuuri. You don’t know anything. You didn’t even want to be a Sacrifice until a few days ago.”

“You’re right. I didn’t know anything until Victor told me. Whose fault is that?” Yuuri opened his eyes again. He turned his gaze out the window, all the while finding that wall again. _You better have a really, really good explanation._ “You were perfectly happy to let me walk around pinging every radar in town without the knowledge to defend myself. What would I have done if Victor had done what Yakov would have wanted and taken me captive, used me as a bargaining chip to leverage Lilia’s location from you?”

Tension skyrocketed. Minako hissed out a quiet curse. Phichit reached over and reached for Yuuri’s hand; Yuuri allowed him to squeeze it for his own comfort, not for Yuuri’s.

“And yet, I told him I didn’t know where Lilia was, and he answered my questions anyway. He showed me his name. He left me alone. I found them later when they had no plan, nowhere to stay, no one to help them. One bag packed between the two of them. So, yeah, I took them in. Victor wore your old apron, Mari, and helped Mom with a whole dinner service. The first time I held him, he almost cried. He showed me what a Fighter could do, and he kissed me on the beach where we used to go swimming in the summers. When we went to the train station, it was because we wanted to go somewhere that no one knew us. So he could just be my boyfriend for one night, no Fighters or Sacrifices. Instead, we got Mila. We got all of _this_. We watched two pairs find each other in a handful of minutes and had to stand there and wonder why we weren’t one of them. He swore he would love me anyway, but now he’s gone.”

Yuuri touched his forehead to the car window. The glass was cold. His scalp pinched with sensation; even yesterday, his ears would have twitched instead.

“I don’t care if you believe me. I don’t care if I don’t have his name. I love him and he’s mine. The only person who’s gonna kick his ass is me.”

Phichit was in danger of breaking his hand. Yuuri tugged, and like so many day ago, he pulled free. And when Yuuri turned his head, when he met the eyes of his friend, he was pleased to find no pity there. Worry, yes. Frustration, likely with Victor and Yuuri both. But no pity.

Yuuri couldn’t yet bear to see what he would find from Mari and Minako. Luckily, he didn’t have to.

“If he hurts you—” Mari started.

“He won’t.”

“Yuuri, shut up and listen to me.”

Yuuri went silent.

“If he hurts you,” Mari started again. “Or if he hurts Lilia, or any of the trainees, or _anyone_ , all bets are off. If this goes bad, I’m sending him back to Russia in pieces, and you won’t be able to stop me. I’ll let you talk to him first, but those are my conditions. You might think he’s gentle, he might even be hurt, but he was merciless last night against someone who should have been his ally. I don’t trust him, Yuuri.”

Yuuri met Mari’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He nodded once. He didn’t have the heart to start the argument that the reason Victor had brutalized Mila was because of _him._

“You don’t have to trust him. Trust me instead.”

Mari took a breath. She let it out. She turned in her seat to face Yuuri directly for the first time since they had gotten into the car, and held out her hand.

Yuuri didn’t hesitate; he took it.

And Mari said, “I think I can handle that.”

 

* * *

 

From the time they rolled through the gates, Yuuri was vibrating in his seat. Being this close and still being blocked was _grating._ He wondered if Victor could sense him at all, if he’d know that Yuuri was coming. He wondered what excuses Victor might have thought up to placate him with. If he’d bothered to think of any at all. If he thought Yuuri would let him go without a fight.

Yuuri had stopped being the running sort at some point since he’d met Victor. He wasn’t sure when he’d become the _fighting_ sort.

“Yuuri, you’re shaking,” Phichit said softly.

“He’s here,” was all Yuuri could manage in reply.

“What are you going to say to him?” Phichit kept his voice level, even, an attempt at keeping Yuuri calm when there was no calm to be found.

Yuuri’s hand curled around the handle of the car door. Ready, waiting for them to come to a stop. “I’ll figure that out when I see him.”

They pulled in. The car slowed. It stopped. Minako unlocked the doors to let them out—

—Yuuri ran.

_Where are you?!_ Called his own voice inside his head. Victor did not answer, but even solid walls reflected sonar signals. Yuuri followed his instincts as he bolted for the entry door, only familiar from his visit the day prior, and ignored the curses of his sister behind him.

They would follow him without question. They would not take the time to regroup and make a plan. Yuuri was too fast, had too much endurance. What little of himself he hadn’t given to his love of education, he’d built around strength and fitness. Mari and Minako were seasoned but older, still bearing bruises from their battle. Phichit was quick, but Yuuri had a head start.

Yuuri wrenched open the door and shot down the hall, his pounding footfalls loud in his ears as he flew past the quiet dorm rooms. The real commotion came when he passed the threshold into the schooling area, and dozens of young faces turned toward the sight of a stranger darting past their classrooms. Even if they remembered Yuuri from yesterday, it was unlikely they recognized him at the speed he was moving, especially without his ears. He heard the murmurs start in earnest when other footsteps echoed behind him; the familiar forms of Phichit and Seung-Gil, Mari and Minako sprinting after him. Yuuri did not spare the time to slow down and hear what they were saying. He didn’t care.

Yuuri burst into the courtyard, the itch at the back of his mind centering itself like a homing beacon. On the drive up, Yuuri had imagined a daring entry for Victor and Yuri, a sense of drama. It was only now that he was here, that he was close, that he realized Victor would be much too injured for such theatrics. It was entirely likely that Otabek led them through empty hallways and skirted the main routes; that they had gone completely unnoticed at all. Lilia most often spent her time among the servers, working on decryptions—that was where Victor would be.

The server building was as large as Yuuri remembered it, with narrow, twisting hallways and cold fluorescent lights. Every footstep echoed off the tile floors and concrete walls. Yuuri didn’t dare to imagine that his arrival would be a surprise to anyone, especially when Phichit called after him, “Yuuri, slow down! _Seriously?”_

Of course he was serious. What else could he do?

He felt them suddenly—Lilia was a steady burn of light against his consciousness, a powerful and experienced Sacrifice, even without a tether. Yuri and Otabek, twinkling like juvenile stars, a bright thread connecting their souls within their shared constellation.

And Victor.

Yuuri nearly tripped over his own feet, still blocked from Victor’s mind even as he experienced the closing proximity of his presence—flickering, faltering, fading.

Victor was in bad shape.

It was with that knowledge that Yuuri skidded around the final corner, found Lilia looking pale and stern with her arms crossed over her chest, Otabek standing with his hands outstretched between her stone-faced stare and the chaotic combination of Yuri (his leopard print and flicking blonde tail) and Victor.

His eyes found Victor’s back, his slender form and black jeans and a sweatshirt that Yuuri immediately recognized because it was _his_ (he’d been looking for that this very morning before he’d pulled on Victor’s instead). The mussed waves of his hair, crimped and wavy from being slept on, if he’d even slept at all. Victor was leaning heavily on the concrete beside him, relying on the structure to hold him upright.

Lilia met Yuuri’s eyes over Victor’s shoulder for a fraction of a second. It was enough for her opponents to realize that they were no longer alone; Yuuri felt a twitch in his head, a crack in the wall.

Yuuri had no intention of being locked out anymore. _“Victor!”_

And he turned.

Victor’s eyes were bloodshot and teary, one of his cheeks stinging pink. Yuuri understood the sudden necessity for Otabek to place himself between the two and felt a ripple of anger. He looked drawn, exhausted, perhaps in the worst shape Yuuri had ever seen him, including the day Yuuri had decided to take him home for the very first time. He’d been without sleep for almost two days back then. He looked something like that now, but with the added strain of being brutally beaten and aching from the night before.

Yuuri ached, too. He wondered if it wasn’t some of Victor’s pain that had made its home inside his body, a runoff plain for Yuuri to absorb the flood that Victor couldn’t bear.

He would take it. Even now, he would take it gladly.

Victor met Yuuri’s eyes. They shot down, to the bright shock of red that was Victor’s own Olympic jacket. And then they travelled up—

—Victor went pale.

His mouth dropped open. The wall between their minds abruptly crashed down, and Yuuri was overtaken by the tide of Victor’s feelings all at once. Exhaustion. Terror. Shock. Guilt. And a terrible, terrible sense of realization.

Victor hadn’t known.

_“Yuuri,”_ Victor whispered, tortured, his hand pressed over his trembling lips as reality sank in for both of them. He moved without thought and took a step forward, and Yuuri _felt_ as much as he saw Victor stagger, the crush of dizziness and pain as his vision went bright, as his ears went soundless—

Yuuri sprinted forward to catch him, hooked one arm around Victor’s waist and the other cupped the back of his head. He heard Yuri’s yelp of surprise from beside them as Yuuri went to his knees for the second time in as many days, breaking open the tender scabs that had only formed the night before. Yuuri didn’t care. The only thought in his mind was that echo chamber of _pain_ that had flared to life the moment Victor realized what had happened.

Somehow he hadn’t known. It was the most awfully relieving thought Yuuri’d had all day. His eyes burned with it, watering as he pressed his face against Victor’s shoulder. With careful hands, he pulled Victor forward into his own.

The footsteps came to a halt right after.

(A pained, long-suffering sigh that was, strangely, Seung-Gil. _“Again?”_

And Phichit, exasperated and urgent, “Come on, _help_ him.”)

“I’m okay,” Yuuri replied, muffled by the fabric of own own sweatshirt stretched across Victor’s body. He lifted his head and stroked his hand down the back of Victor’s neck, held him close, turned his cheek to press against the top of Victor’s head in an affectionate embrace. Yuuri couldn’t put words to the relief of knowing Victor hadn’t purposefully left him alone to wake up earless. That Victor _had_ cared, and seemed to recognize the significance of his disappearance immediately. What it meant for them.

It didn’t explain why the _hell_ he had chosen that moment to take off in the first place, but anything else Yuuri could forgive him for.

“We’re okay, Vitya,” Yuuri murmured soothingly on the off chance Victor could hear him and hadn’t just passed out cold. Yuuri stood tall on his knees under Victor’s dead weight, wincing all the while, even as Phichit grabbed him under the arms and hauled Yuuri to his feet.

Yuuri rubbed a circle into Victor’s back with his thumb and pushed all the love he could into the semi-conscious stream of Victor’s thoughts. He exhaled hard through his nose as he held Victor upright. This wasn’t exactly what Yuuri had hoped for, but that was okay. He knew a place where Victor could rest, as long as Yuuri could get him there.

He looked up. Lilia’s green eyes were just the same tone as Yuri’s, both attentive and sharp and staring at him, taking in the loss of his ears, the way Yuuri clung to Victor. They were terribly similar. They could have been related. The difference was the way Yuri immediately locked himself at Victor’s side, helping to support his weight as a loyal brother would.

“So,” Lilia said with a hard look. “It seems you know Victor quite well. I assume it’s no coincidence he ended up here the day after you did.”

“No,” Otabek cut in quietly. “That was just me. Yura asked me to bring him here. I’m sure if Yuuri had known he would have insisted on coming with us.”

Lilia shot Otabek a sidelong glance. “Is that so, Mr. Altin?”

“Yeah, it’s so,” Yuri snapped. “Victor would tell you himself if he was awake. He never goes anywhere without Katsuki if he doesn’t have to. I told him it was stupid to come when he hadn’t even rested—he’s too beat up. But he was more worried about Okukawa catching up to him and taking him away from his dumb _boyfriend.”_

Yuuri heard a quiet, disbelieving sound from Minako somewhere behind him. Lilia frowned at Yuri’s impudence and raised her chin in a haughty, powerful gesture that was earned by age and experience. “And why were you not fighting with him?”

“I was!” Yuri protested with a snap of his teeth, a furious kittenish chatter of his jaw and the twitching of blonde ears. “He ended up all cut up, not me. Guess it makes sense because I’m not his real Sacrifice. Didn’t know that then, though.”

Lilia inclined her head slightly. She turned back to Yuuri. “And you?”

Yuuri’s knees throbbed and threatened to give out under the strain of Victor’s weight and his own injuries. He stared Lilia down as he stroked his hand across the back of Victor’s neck again, gentle and protective and possessive all in one. “I’m not his Sacrifice either.”

Lilia stared. And then she sighed. Put a hand over her eyes in pained exasperation. “Of course you’re not.”

Yuuri huffed, not sure whether or not he should he insulted, or whether her past with Victor was lending some unknown memory to her reaction of resigned disbelief. He turned his face into Victor’s hair and hitched him up further. If they waited much longer, he’d have to brace them both on the wall, too. “Look, can we please go lay him down somewhere? He’s exhausted and exsanguinated and hasn’t slept in two days.”

“Not to mention you just put the fear of god in him,” Yuri muttered under his breath.

Yuuri tried not to be oddly pleased at that.

“Yes,” Lilia said with a sigh, and something in her stern expression faded. Minako went to her side and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, Mari close behind. Contrasted with their youth, Lilia looked older. Tired. Her eyes did not stray from Victor again, held safely and gently in Yuuri’s arms. “It seems we need to have a conversation, Mr. Katsuki.”

Yuuri felt a flicker of awareness against his own and was swift to welcome it back as though it had never left. _I love you,_ he thought, and was pleased when it pulsed with a spark of light. _You know I love you. I forgive you. You’re safe with me, Vitya. I’m here now. You’re not alone._

The responding tingle felt like a butterfly kiss. Yuuri hid his tender smile in the locks of Victor’s hair. He couldn’t bring himself to be anything other than painfully relieved.

But he knew that, though his own demanding instincts had been satiated, Victor’s remained starving. It was Yuuri’s responsibility to see his curiosity fed, sang to and soothed and put to bed at long last. “Yes, Madame Baranovskaya. It seems that way.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog this chapter here](https://maydei.tumblr.com/post/169875060387/title-fated-pairing-victuuri-victor)


	18. Blameless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last, both Victor and Lilia get the answers they need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. You guys are ridiculous. Going from 10k to 11k hits in one chapter, and from 700+ to 800+ kudos. I'm really, totally, completely blown away. Thank you so so so much. I never imagined the response I'd get when I started this fic, and I'm like... amazed. Thank you. Really, thank you. And please check out this [truly beautiful Yuuri by ](https://ammoniium.tumblr.com/post/170036735341/art-for-maydeis-lovely-fic-fated-its-so)[ammoniium](http://ammoniium.tumblr.com). 
> 
> Special shoutout to [Rae](http://extranikiforov.tumblr.com), who cried because of this chapter. Nothing quite so validating as inducing tears in someone who already knew what was going to happen. XD 
> 
> Finally, since I've had an influx of new readers, I just wanted to let you know that this fic updates on Fridays, usually right around midnight EST. No need to wonder when the next update will happen. Just wait until Friday and you'll have it, or Rae and Robbie will kick my ass. :P
> 
>  

 

 

 

Yuuri’s nerves were a mess until they had Victor safely laid on the cot in the infirmary. It took less than a second’s consideration to crawl into the bed right beside him, what anyone else thought be damned.

Their entourage had drawn attention from curious students, but no comments—it seemed Victor’s reputation was firmly rooted in name, but not in sight. But, Yuuri supposed, there would have been no reason for anyone in Goura to have ever seen Victor before.

That was just as well. Victor had enough to worry about.

Yuuri sighed as he situated himself up against the metal bars of the headboard. He jammed the thin pillow behind his aching back before he pulled Victor close, gentle and careful as he situated Victor’s head in his lap. He shot Mari and Minako a narrow-eyed glance, daring them to say anything as he stroked his thumb over the crest of Victor’s flushed-pink cheekbone, traced gently under the red and raw split in his lip. When their stares lingered but they said nothing, Yuuri let his attention drift back to Victor.

Lilia was a heavy, silent presence in the room that Yuuri was not yet ready to address. Instead, he snagged a blanket without jostling Victor and swept it over him, tucked it around him with loving hands and smoothed his palm over Victor’s hair and down his spine. The quiet mumble he got in response drew a painfully adoring smile; Yuuri’s heart ached as Victor unconsciously nuzzled into his warmth.

 _I’ve got you,_ Yuuri said to the dozing presence at the base of his skull. _Rest now. I’ll protect you._

When Yuuri turned his eyes back to those lingering in the doorway, he sought out Phichit first. “Do you think you could bring us some water?” Yuuri asked. He traced his knuckles over Victor’s temple, around the curve of his ear, chilled to the touch. “Maybe something for him to eat when he wakes up?”

“No problem,” Phichit replied with a nod. “Be back in a bit.” He retreated, and Seung-Gil went with him, a silent conversation passing between their eyes. He turned to Yuri and to Otabek. “Do you want to come with us?”

They shared a quick glance. Yuri frowned, expression complicated as he looked at Victor sprawled across Yuuri’s lap, and to Lilia—whatever emotion he was feeling, Otabek seemed to understand. He passed his hand over the crown of Yuri’s head, between his twitching ears, and nodded to Phichit. “I’ll go.” And softly, “If you need me, just call.”

Yuri nodded once. He swallowed, loudly enough for even Yuuri to hear. When Otabek left, Yuri crossed the room and, too, got up onto the bed. He sat at the foot of it, careful not to kneel on Victor as he crawled over him and set his back against the wall. He shared a terse nod with Yuuri, ears lowered as he crossed his arms over his chest. His tail thumped once against the thin mattress.

“Well,” Yuri said, filling the uncomfortable silence as he pinned his eyes on Lilia, “You better start talking. We didn’t come all the way from Russia and get our asses kicked for nothing.”

Against her better judgement, Mari’s lips twitched toward a smile. Minako scowled at her in a flicker of annoyance. Lilia remained inscrutable, her gaze fixed on Victor—and Yuuri’s on her.

“You hit him,” Yuuri said softly. The pads of his fingers touched briefly against the stubborn flush and felt its warmth. The heat transmutated into a fire in his heart; Yuuri’s other hand curled into a fist in the blanket. The muscles in his scalp ached. If he’d still had his ears, they would have been laid flat. How long would it take to get used to their absence? “What right do you have to be angry? You left them.”

Lilia’s lip curled. “I left on a mission and was told not to return. I have every right to be angry.” She crossed her arms and raised her chin; the air around them prickled with the force of the anger she was holding back. Yuuri could see it manifest in the nervous shift of Minako’s weight, in Mari’s subtle grimace. He was not the only one who could feel it.

Yuri’s tail thumped against the mattress again. “That’s not how I heard it. Seems to us it was the other way around.”

Lilia’s narrowed eyes found Yuri. “I’m sure the circumstances of my exile were not made public to _children_.”

Yuri snorted. He gestured to Victor with one careless sweep of his hand. His tail fluttered in agitation. Yuuri’s spine twinged in sympathy. “Figure they would’ve been _made public_ to him. You can defend yourself all you want. I haven’t seen the messages, but _he_ has.”

“Messages,” Lilia sneered derisively. “Yes, I’m sure he has.” She turned on her heel, winding between Mari and Minako with a furious, deliberate sweep. “Minako, inform me when he awakes. In the meantime I leave it to you to figure out how your protégé has pulled the wool so far over your eyes.”

Minako started as though slapped. Immediately, Mari’s countenance flickered with rage. “Don’t talk to her like that. Yuuri wasn’t like this until he met _your_ protégé.”

Yuuri desperately desired to bare his teeth. Instead, he smoothed trembling fingers through Victor’s hair. “Like _what_ , Mari?” He curled one silver strand around his finger and reached for peace. He found it only in the flutter of Victor’s lilac eyelids, his shining lashes. “Being able to think without your guidance? Able to take care of myself? Capable of hearing two sides of a story and knowing when both disagree so completely there must be something wrong?”

Lilia froze in the doorway. When the turned, it was slowly, with all the dramatic grace of a former prima ballerina. Yuuri took a breath and met her stare with ice, the same sting he’d felt a hundred times with a hundred falls under his broken palms. The memory stirred a flicker of acknowledgement in Victor; of love and longing for something long lost. Something taken from him, and given back on quiet nights by a woman with hair like ink and eyes like clover.

“I knew right away that something wasn’t right,” Yuuri said quietly. He pet his hand through Victor’s hair again. “The day Phichit told me you didn’t have the data. You confirmed it when I was here yesterday. I was hoping to figure it out before Victor found you. I thought I’d have a few more days. Maybe a few weeks if I was lucky. He told me right away he was scared of what he might find here—that he didn’t want to find you. He didn’t want to be faced with you saying you never really loved him at all.”

Lilia’s lips pursed. Her forehead creased. The lines around her eyes were deep. “If he believes that, it’s only because it’s what Yakov has told him.”

Yuri made a sound of quiet outrage. He fell silent when Yuuri shook his head, just once. “No. He said Yakov sent them because he couldn’t bear to hear it himself.”

Minako stiffened. “That’s a lie—” She cut herself off.

The quiet sound that forced its way from Lilia’s chest was wounded and terribly, terribly miserable. Yuuri’s arm fell across Victor’s chest and pulled him closer in instinct. That sound was pain. Real pain.

He felt a waver in the air, a pulse of vague sensation that zipped into the distance—and a rebound like a current on a wire just a half-second later. Beside him, Yuri’s hands clenched on his thighs; eyes lowered and unfocused. Yuuri realized when it swept by him again that the sparks of static electricity were coming from _Yuri,_ his fledgling connection with Otabek fizzling with bursts of simple sensation.

It made him reach for Victor. His heart and mind settled when he found him there, still heavy and soft with sleep, an undeniable presence of weary contentment both physically and mentally. Yuuri’s hand slipped up Victor’s neck to curl around his jaw, knuckles pressed firmly against the thrum of his pulse. It had only just started to sink in that this awareness must be coming from what Phichit had referred to as _breaking out_ —the emergence of his presence as a Sacrifice, slowly creeping in around the edges.

If this was what he felt of Victor as an unbonded Fighter, what must it feel like when two minds were truly conjoined? He couldn’t imagine anything feeling easier or more natural than what he already had.

He didn’t want to lose this closeness with Victor—not after everything they’d given to each other. But outside of following Victor home when he was inevitably sent away and refusing to leave, what else could Yuuri do?

When Lilia had left as she’d _had_ to leave, what had she done to deal with the loss? As Yuuri looked at the fracture echoed back in her countenance, he came to the realization that maybe she’d never dealt with it at all. And between Lilia and Victor and even Yakov himself, maybe none of them had.

Lilia’s pain was clear to him. Why hadn’t it been clear to Yakov? Yuuri frowned deeply and cradled Victor close, slipped one hand into his hair and the other down his back. He didn’t understand. It didn’t make sense. “You were Yakov’s Sacrifice. If he hated you, why didn’t you feel it? And if he didn’t, and you wanted to go back home, why didn’t you ask?”

“Ask?” Lilia’s frown twisted into something complicated, as unhappy as it was perplexed. “It’s a sixth sense—honed with experience, yes, but limited. Meanings are diluted. Distance becomes deafening.”

Yuuri frowned in return. Yuri’s tail thumped against the mattress in an uneven, uneasy flutter. Yuuri glanced at Minako, whose head was tilted in shrewd deliberation, eyes narrowed. He blinked slowly, the pieces heavy and misshapen in his thoughts. “But you’re bonded,” Yuuri said with a frown. “Even if he was blocking the direct link on purpose, he would have felt you there. You would have felt him. Maybe not the words, but the _feeling—”_

Mari shook her head impatiently. “Yuuri, that’s not how it works.”

Yuuri felt his heartbeat kick into double. He looked uncomprehendingly between Mari and Minako and Lilia. In turn, they stared at him like he was speaking nonsense.

Clearly one of them had to be, but Yuuri had been sure until this moment that it wasn’t him. Maybe the world was warping around him, maybe he was losing it—but everything felt as solid to him as Victor’s weight across his legs, the warmth of his body radiating against Yuuri’s palms, the open connection that purred under Yuuri’s regard and nudged up against his sense of self. His head hurt, but he wasn’t sure if it was Victor’s headache or his own. He’d never had cause to doubt his own senses before. “But—but that’s—you’re bonded, it’s _right there._ I’ve seen you do it a thousand times, the looks, the—” Yuuri went quiet. He swallowed. “Your bond. You don’t feel it? Hear it?”

Mari was shaking her head again, eyed wide and confused. Minako’s were narrowed, frowning. “No, Yuuri. We don’t.” And then, she straightened. Her lips parted slightly, and she drew in a tight breath. “Do _you?”_

A flicker of external awareness was swiftly smothered underneath the tide of his own alarm. If that’s not what the bond was—if that’s not what it was _supposed_ to be, then what was it? What was _he?_ What was happening to him?

Yuuri felt movement and Yuri made a disgruntled sound—long legs connected with slender ribs at the same time Victor’s fingers curled into the waist of the Olympic jacket Yuuri wore. Victor made a sound of discontent at being disturbed but cracked his eyes open nonetheless, blinking blearily before he registered Yuuri’s touch on his cheek. At it, he smiled. Then he looked up to Yuuri, and that smile faded at what he saw; melted into discomfited uncertainty. “Yuuri? Are you okay?”

Yuuri felt himself wavering, confusion warring with the lingering sense of betrayal, but wrapped in such deep and terrible love that he could hardly breathe. Everything else ceased to matter. Yuuri curled in on himself and over Victor, bending down until his forehead touched Victor’s jaw, his lips pressed against his cheek.

Victor made a soft sound and reached up for him in return, hand slipping over the back of Yuuri’s neck and lingering there. His thumb stroked gentle trails across his nape, smoothing down the fine baby hairs. “I’m so sorry,” Victor whispered, sifting through the amalgam of sensation, a familiar brush against Yuuri’s mind that he was so attuned to now that he could not imagine losing it. Losing _Victor._ “I didn’t know, Yuuri, I swear I didn’t. It was still dark, I didn’t see—”

Yuuri inhaled shakily, ignoring the murmurs and sounds of anything outside of them. Outside this moment. Yuri’s put-upon grumbles faded into the background. He had no interest in anyone’s protests against this. It was right. He knew it was, circumstances be damned. “I know you didn’t,” Yuuri murmured, and felt Victor relax in his hold. But he shouldn’t relax—no, not yet, not when Yuuri was still angry with him. No matter how much he loved him. “But that shouldn’t be the only reason you’re sorry. Even if I still had my ears, I shouldn’t have woken up alone. Do you understand?”

Victor nodded, hands shaky against Yuuri’s skin. There was a rolling anxiety passing through Victor’s mind, a deep-seated feeling of guilt and sickness as the realization caught up to him. Yuuri tipped Victor’s chin and kissed him, swift and chaste and upside-down. “I’m still mad, but I love you. We’ll talk about it later.”

Yuuri pulled back and Victor stared up at him, eyes huge and blue and worshipful, the warm tide of his devotion rising over the sands of Yuuri’s mind.

“Gross,” Yuri muttered without any particular conviction, and all at once, Victor seemed to realize where they were. Who they were with, other than Yuri.

He reached for Yuuri’s hand reflexively. His grip was so tight it ached. When he made to sit up, Yuuri pressed his hand against Victor’s shoulder and kept him down. “Vitya, no. Take it easy, you just passed out.”

Victor shot him an anxious glance, and Yuuri felt his desire to appear solid and strong—a facade that had already been broken when he’d fallen unconscious in Yuuri’s arms. “But—”

“Vitya,” Yuuri said firmly, and pushed his fingers through the silken strands of Victor’s hair. Victor leaned into the touch like a man starved, his head falling into Yuuri’s palm without a fuss. Yuuri guided him back down until his head was pillowed against Yuuri’s thigh, one arm cast across Yuuri’s lap in a loving, possessive hold. “Rest now. You can still talk while you lie down. I’ll be right here with you.”

When they finally turned their attention back to the rest, it was together. Yuuri preferred it that way.

“Well,” he said with a sigh and tipped his head back against the bars, “you might as well pull up a chair.”

Minako scoffed quietly, but her eyes on Victor and Yuuri were sharp. Assessing. Measuring Victor’s comfort with Yuuri’s touch, and Yuuri’s familiarity with having Victor close to him. Well, let her see whatever she wanted to see. Yuuri had nothing to hide.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Minako said, standing with her shoulders braced on the doorframe. Beside her, Mari sat on the edge of the supply cabinet and leaned back against the familiar form of her Fighter.

Yuuri’s eyes were on Lilia as she strode across the room and sat primly on the edge of the padded nurse’s chair, hands folded together in her lap. Yuuri couldn’t get a clear read on her emotions, only the depth of her focus, zeroed in on Victor—and Victor on her. He passed his thumb over Victor’s temple and smoothed away his bangs. “Don’t see how it matters,” Yuuri said softly. “This isn’t about me, or what I do or don’t feel.”

“We’re here because of how you felt when you came to us this morning,” Mari said with a hint of cold, pointed derision.

Yuuri felt Victor flinch; the soothing noise he made in response was automatic, and Victor relaxed as Yuuri pushed a sense of calming comfort through the thread of their… connection. Whatever it was. He tried his best to temper his sharper edges before he spoke—the words would be pointed enough without Yuuri aiming to hurt. “I would have gotten here with or without you.”

Mari twitched anyway. She reached for Minako’s hand, twined together on her own shoulder, and she stared at Yuuri like she’d never seen him before. She was quiet for a while. Their stalemate did not waver until Mari tipped her king and gave in.

“You’re different,” she said, and sounded unhappy about it. “After everything Minako and I have done for you, Yuuri, _he_ shows up and you let him change you?”

Yuri shuffled at the end of the bed. Yuuri had nearly forgotten he was there until he cast them a sidelong look and said, “Yeah, well, he changed Victor too. The only reason he’s this beat up is because he didn’t check in, and when Mila got here and saw he wasn’t a prisoner or anything, she decided he was a traitor. So.”

Yuri nudged Victor’s calf with one foot. Victor tipped his head up only enough to look at him, to share a bittersweet quirk of his lips, and to nudge Yuri right back. He settled with a sigh, turning his eyes back up to Yuuri’s face. “Yeah, well,” Victor started. “At least one of us has a good enough reason for Yakov.”

Yuri went quiet for a moment. Yuuri could feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of his head with their intensity, but Yuuri’s attention was only for Victor and touching his cheek with a flicker of a smile.

“You have a good reason,” Yuri replied, and crossed his arms over his chest. The tip of his tail flicked.

Lilia’s foot tapped once against the tile. “Yakov will think what he wants regardless of your reasons.”

The warmth on Victor’s face melted away. Despite the way he clung to Yuuri even now, his expression was cold as he looked at her. “Yakov has good reasons for the things he thinks.”

“He thinks you’re a traitor.”

Victor turned his face against Yuuri’s thigh and stared at her with one icy blue eye. “So I am. And so are you.”

Lilia’s lip curled, and Yuuri could feel Victor’s tension skyrocket, and—

“You’re not a traitor,” Yuuri said quietly. “Neither of you are.”

Everything went still.

Yuuri felt the frisson of Victor’s disbelief, his uncertainty. The sting of betrayal. Yuuri stroked his hand through Victor’s hair as he looked down; the strands tangled around his fingers as Victor pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, and he winced as he pulled away from Yuuri and sat back on his haunches, no longer touching him at all.

The loss of him was chilling, but Yuuri let him have his distance. He needed it.

“Don’t say that to me,” Victor said, almost pleading. “You know what she did.”

Yuuri lowered his eyes to the thin blanket, Victor’s warmth still trapped within the weave. The fabric of the Olympic jacket, and Yuuri tangled in its red threads. Not trapped—enveloped. He felt their constriction as keenly as he felt Victor’s hurt. “I know what you said and what she says don’t add up,” Yuuri said quietly. “She doesn’t have the data, Vitya.”

Victor’s head whipped around, teeth bared, eyes narrowed, a vein throbbing in his temple that Yuuri knew was from the pain of jostling his injured leg. “That’s not true. That’s a lie.”

“I’ve never had it,” Lilia replied with a scowl of her own. “If Yakov had ever taken the time to learn our intranet when I tried to teach him, he would have known that.”

Victor was shaking. “Our access was denied. You revoked our clearance.”

And Lilia snapped, “We _all_ lost our clearance, Vitya. My purpose here was to decrypt Seimei’s malware and unlock our executive functions.” She sniffed. “It’s obviously taken more time than expected. The pitfalls put in place were extensive. The moment I accessed our network, a lock was put on all our external devices. No communication in or out. And by the time I unlocked the deadbolts…”

Lilia turned her face away, countenance grim, brow furrowed with misery. It was enough to give Victor pause; he shot an alarmed and on-edge glance to Yuuri, who had nothing more to offer him than the truth of Lilia’s emotion and her story. It was up to Victor whether he would believe her or not.

“No, that can’t be true,” Victor protested. He pushed himself back further, edged away from Yuuri and placed himself at Yuri’s side instead. The two shared a look, identical narrow-eyed glances on the woman who they’d come to know as the villain of their own story. “We got a message. Yakov did. You said things could never be the same since you lost your…”

Victor swallowed heavily. He started again. “Since you lost your Bondmate and your son. And that Yakov and I were no longer… adequate replacements.”

Minako made a sound of horrified outrage; Mari’s knuckles went white. Lilia jolted as though she had been slapped. Her head whipped around and pierced Victor with a wide-eyed green glass gaze. “You could not _possibly_ believe that was true.”

Victor ducked his head. His lip trembled. He reached for Yuri’s hand and gripped it tight.

Yuuri ached that he could not be the one to offer comfort—only to mediate. He pushed himself up and crossed his legs, pulling inside himself to resist the current of sadness in the room. The horror and pain. He had to stay focused.

“Lilia, you also received a message,” Yuuri prompted gently.

Yuuri had to admire her resolve. Lilia sniffled once, the rims of her eyes red, but she did not shed a tear. Her eyeliner remained perfectly in place as she sat up straight, picture-perfect dancer’s posture in the rigid line of her spine. “I was told that due to the nature of our recent disagreements, I was no longer wanted or welcome at the St. Petersburg Academy. That I was to make my family somewhere else. He no longer felt we understood each other, or were capable of understanding each other.”

Her expression crumbled for half a second. She hastily swiped her finger under her watering eyes. “I supposed, after all we had been arguing lately, part of me believed it was true. I did not understand why he couldn’t see my point of view. Ultimately, it drove us apart, one way or another.”

Victor was practically vibrating, body trembling, mind alight with confusion and pain. The strength of it was blurring Yuuri’s vision. _Please,_ he said silently. _Please, I’m right here. Let me help._ And Victor—

As if the words had been spoken aloud, he turned his head to look at Yuuri once more. His face was flushed pink, overwhelmed, blinking back tears. Yuuri stared helplessly back, waiting for his approval.

Victor held out one shaking hand, and Yuuri crawled to him at once.

Yuuri situated himself firmly at Victor’s free side. He slipped his arms around his waist and pulled Victor’s arm around him in turn, making sure he knew no inch of empty space between them. _Thank you,_ Yuuri thought with every living beat of his heart. _I love you, I’m here with you. I know it hurts._

“Your point of view,” Victor said numbly, and pulled Yuuri impossibly closer.

Lilia took a long, shuddering breath. “Yakov—” Her voice broke. “Yakov wished for us to marry. To adopt you, officially.”

Yuuri squeezed Victor so tight they shared the hurt.

Victor sounded dead. Defeated. Terribly, horribly hollow. “And you didn’t want that.”

Lilia leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. One strand of hair fell out of her perfect bun. She pressed her hands over her trembling lips for a moment, and when she pulled them away, the coral shade of her lip color had smudged at the corner of her mouth. “Please understand, Vitya. At the time, I didn’t think it was necessary. Yakov and I were bonded. We were raising you already. In my mind, marriage was for those not fortunate enough to be Named.”

Victor turned his face into Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri felt the hiccup catch in place behind his ribs. “And me?”

Yuuri pressed a kiss to Victor’s shoulder, the closest piece of him he could reach while holding him so tightly. This was all he could do to hold Victor’s pieces together. He was afraid if he let go, then Victor might shatter before him.

“By that time, you were already an adult. You could choose wherever you wished to live without us needing to follow the channels of gaining custody. And I… perhaps foolishly believed that asking would be an insult. I didn’t want you to think that we intended to replace your parents.”

Yuuri laid his hand over Victor’s heart, felt it scream and sob beneath his palm in a way that Victor could not. Even now, he still felt he had to be strong.

 _For who,Vitya?_ Yuuri asked silently, and leaned forward to press a soft kiss to the side of Victor’s throat. His other arm was a vise around Victor’s ribs. _There’s no one leaning on you now. Let Yura and I be strong for you instead._

Yuuri felt the warmth of his breath against the stinging scars of where his ears had once been. The hand on Victor’s heart followed the panicked pounding of his blood to his neck, wrapped around Victor’s throat and pulled him down to twine into his hair. Yuuri placed Victor’s head in the dip between his own neck and shoulder and kissed his temple. _I’m right here. I love you._

In his mind, clear as a bell in a voice decidedly not his own, Victor whispered, _I love you._

And he sobbed.

Yuuri met the desperate gleam of Lilia’s eyes as a tear dripped down her cheek in a streak of mascara-black.

 _She_ **_was_ ** _my mother_ , said Victor’s voice in his mind as he clutched Yuuri close, as his tears soaked into that same red Olympic jacket that represented everything he’d ever lost. _The only one I ever really knew._

Yuuri’s hand in Victor’s hair brushed Yuri’s as it flattened across his back, offering an awkward but well-intentioned rub of comfort, the best show at empathy a teenage boy could offer to his elder as he thoroughly fell apart. His ears were lowered fully, eyes wide and almost afraid—he had never seen Victor like this before last night, Yuuri realized. This was twice in as many days, and it was entirely possible he’d never seen Victor express any weakness at all before now. Before he met Yuuri.

And now…

Yuuri twitched with surprise when he felt a new weight settle on the tiny medical cot, and it was to his endless surprise that it was Lilia herself. Without hesitating and without care for her pride, she wrapped her arms around Victor and Yuuri both. Yuuri could feel her shaking.

“Being told not to return was the hardest thing I had ever known, Vitya. Knowing that you still lived and I could not be with you was harder than losing you completely. I thought so many times about writing you. Instead, I dedicated myself to my work in the hopes that, if I were ever to contact you again, I would have something to offer that might make it worth you listening to what I had to say. I missed you both every day I’ve been gone. I did, truly, I—”

The feedback loop of hurt and regret and time lost echoed in Yuuri’s ears, sparked prickles of pain behind his eyes from tears that were not his own. Still, he stayed. He could do nothing else.

He waited for long, aching minutes as Victor pulled himself together, fed silent comforts into whatever thread of consciousness they shared, improbable and impossible though it might be. Victor finding Lilia again seemed just as impossible. That they could ever reconcile, too, seemed impossible.

Possibilities and impossibilities, like fate, were subjective.

When Yuuri managed to look through the gaps between their entwined embrace, he saw something just as impossible. Minako, too, had tears in her eyes, and Mari seemed just as preoccupied with comforting her.

Of course. She was Lilia’s closest friend, after all. It had been Minako who had been there for the last handful of years between Lilia’s exile and this very moment. This was a resolution as much for her as it was for any of them.

When Mari noticed Yuuri looking, she took a deep, visible breath and let it out. She offered him a nod and half a bittersweet smile, eyes lingering on the tangle of emotions in human form before she turned her attention back to Minako.

But with just a few minutes more, it ended as suddenly as it had begun. Lilia drew back and attempted to salvage the truly unsalvageable state of her waterlogged makeup. Victor sniffled, teary-eyed and red-nosed, pawing at Yuuri for love and affection that he could no longer find the words or presence of mind to ask for. Yuuri pulled him close and kissed his forehead, both puffy eyelids, the blotchy bridge of his nose.

 _It’ll be okay,_ Yuuri soothed silently, petting Victor’s messy hair back from his eyes. _You’ll see. We’ll find a way to fix this together._

Victor nodded, trying and failing to breathe through his swollen nose before he gave up and resorted to mouth-breathing. He then broke down in helpless, pathetic giggles that were still half-sobs. “I love you, Yuuri.”

“I know,” Yuuri replied soothingly, cupped Victor’s jaw in his hands and wiped the tears away with the pads of his thumbs. “I know, Vitya. I love you, too. You’re gonna be okay, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Victor sniffled.

“Do you believe it? Really? Because it’s true.”

Victor blinked his aching eyes and covered Yuuri’s hand with his own, named and unnamed together against his skin. He tipped his cheek into Yuuri’s grip and sighed long and low. “If you’re with me, yes. I believe it.”

Yuuri leaned forward until their foreheads touched. He closed his eyes and felt for that tendril between them, shining bright and solid—the light of it a familiar white that had flashed behind his eyes so many times. Perhaps more times than Yuuri even remembered. He touched that thread with metaphysical fingertips, caressed it until it turned gold.

This love they shared, whatever it was, seemed to be outside the bonds of Fighter and Sacrifice. Something new, something unheard of, even within the rules of magic. Maybe that was just fine.

“I’ll always be with you,” Yuuri promised softly; cracked his eyes open to meet Victor’s, staring back at him. “No one will ever take you from me.”

From the end of the bed came Yuri’s voice, doubtful but far from derisive. “That’s a hell of a thing to promise.”

Yuuri leaned in to steal a kiss from Victor, short and sweet, before he pulled back and put distance between them. Victor still stared at him with stars in his eyes, love in his thoughts. His Vitya. _His._ “I’ll make it true however I have to,” Yuuri said simply. He turned his attention to Yuri. “But why?”

“Because everyone who followed Mila is gunning right for him, and he’s in some kinda state. Can’t even walk—” Yuri frowned. His ears twitched, and then he raised his head attentively. His focus swiveled to the doorway, and he softened into a smile. He pushed himself off the cot and padded to the door. “Beka’s back.”

Yuri did not so much greet them as he slid into the space under Otabek’s arm, making himself comfortable like it was the only place he was meant to be. He grumbled as Otabek patted his ears down, but his tail swished affectionately. “You better have brought me something.”

“Like I’d forget,” Otabek replied. The corners of his mouth twitched subtly upward, and he pushed a foil-wrapped triangle against Yuri’s chest, gentle but teasing. “Here. Ham sandwich.”

Phichit and Seung-Gil shuffled in behind him, warily taking in the overabundance of red-rimmed eyes and stuffy noses, but seeming satisfied at the general aura of peace. “Room service,” Phichit said in true form, beaming a thousand-watt grin in an attempt to lighten the mood. Seung-Gil’s arms were laden with all sorts of wrapped goods. “I’ve got sandwiches and onigiri, and to drink you’ve got your choice of water and, well, water. Sorry, it’s pretty picked over. There’s only so much we can do against a horde of hungry kids who actually live here.”

“It’s great, Phichit. Thank you,” Yuuri said with a smile, accepting a pair of water bottles, two wrapped onigiri, and a sandwich. He pushed all but one of the rice balls at Victor. “Here. Eat.”

Victor balked. “This is too much.”

“I know for a fact you can eat half your weight. You’re not fooling anyone.” Yuuri fixed him with a firm but affectionate look. “ _Eat,_ Vitya. You’ve already passed out once today.”

Phichit hopped up to sit on the desk in the corner. He took a bite out of a rice ball. “Yeah,” he said through his mouthful, “Yuuri had to carry you all the way here. I don’t know what you guys get up to in your spare time, but it didn’t look good for him.”

“Phichit!” Yuuri protested.

Victor dropped the sandwich he’d been in the middle of unwrapping. It tumbled into his lap. “You _carried_ me?”

Phichit looked smug. “Maybe you should get in more practice.”

 _“Phichit!”_ Yuuri wailed.

Yuri looked vaguely ill. “You guys are nuts.”

Seung-Gil settled in and leaned against Phichit’s side. Phichit tossed him a careless smile before he turned his mischievous smirk back on Yuri and Otabek. “Don’t worry. You’ll get there eventually.”

Otabek promptly inhaled the rest of his water and started to cough, face beet-red. Yuri, mortified, thumped him on the back and turned toward the door. “Okay, that’s my cue to leave. Beka, let’s go for a walk. We can eat outside.”

Otabek trailed after him helplessly. Phichit looked mightily pleased with himself.

Victor was still staring at Yuuri. “You _carried_ me?” He repeated. “How?”

Yuuri flustered. He took a deliberate sip of his water. “On my back? I dunno. We had to get you out of there somehow.”

Victor leaned back, weight supported on one hand. His eyes roved Yuuri with a speculative glance. “Wow.”

Across the room, Minako sniffled, dashed the smudges of tears from around her eyes and huffed. “Yuuri’s an athlete. He’s stronger than he looks. You shouldn’t underestimate him.”

Yuuri wasn’t sure exactly how Minako had meant it—as a threat or a warning, maybe. But Victor’s lips curled into a slow smile, focused totally and entirely on Yuuri’s heated face. “Yes, I’m starting to see that.”

 _“Minako-sensei,”_ Yuuri said in a tortured groan, at the same time Mari sighed, “Minako, oh my god. Not helping.”

Lilia, who had managed to find a tissue to dry face, rolled her eyes at them all, especially at Victor, who dissolved into laughter. “This is why I teach children, Minako,” she scolded without heat.

Yuuri rubbed a hand over his eyes. Victor’s amusement and interest lingered at the base of his skull. “Tell me about it.”

They took a moment to eat in some semblance of peace; Victor obediently worked his way through the sandwich and the water, but Yuuri could tell that the exertions of the day were catching up to him. He could easily sleep for a few more hours, as he should.

Victor, it seemed, had other plans. He sat up straight and looked to Lilia, and though the defensiveness and derision had gone, he still did not look certain of his own place in the room. “So what now?” Victor asked quietly. He fiddled with the plastic from the sandwich, crushing it into a ball he passed between his palms. “If what you said is true, we’ve all made a hell of a mess.”

“No, _Beloved_ made the mess,” Mari cut in. There was an edge to her voice that Yuuri rarely heard—hateful, furious. Her scowl was an angry thing that only Minako’s hand on her shoulder could temper. Mari twined their fingers together and took a measured breath, then let it out slowly. “I’m no fan of Yakov Feltsman’s, but Seimei was a snake. I’m sure he did recon on all of us, and it’s probably still out there somewhere. God knows when it’ll come back to bite us in the ass again.”

“Then we’ll have to be prepared,” Lilia said.

She cleared her throat and reached back, pulling her hair down from the mess her bun had become, and tied it into an unkempt knot at the base of her neck instead. It was a style Yuuri had seen on Victor almost constantly when he needed his hair out of the way; he’d never realized that Victor had picked it up from someone else. In its own way, the casual nature of it made Lilia look younger. But perhaps, too, it was simply the absence of betrayal and loss that had previously weighed her down.

“From this time forward, we will have to make amends. Learn to trust one another.” Lilia’s eyes slid from Victor to Yuuri. “Perhaps we’re all too quick to forget that bonds of choice can be as strong as the ones we are born with.”

Yuuri reached across the space between them to still Victor’s fidgeting hands in one of his own. Yuuri scooted closer until they were hip to hip, and even then, he held on. He leaned into Victor’s side and let his eyes fall to the name he loved and coveted in equal measure; let his thumb touch each of the letters from Victor’s wrist to the base of his ring finger. Victor kissed his temple in return, and when Yuuri laced their fingers together again, offered a gentle squeeze.

Then Victor turned back to Lilia. Yuuri felt the flicker of his vulnerability in the moments before he said the words out loud. “I came here for the truth. To find out…”

Yuuri squeezed back.

“To find out whose Fighter I am,” Victor continued at long last. He took a moment to pull himself together, pain rippling across the connection they shared, and directed his next words to Yuuri. “I just… thought it would be easier to find out by myself. In case you’re… not…”

“Vitya,” Yuuri replied softly. “It’s okay. We both already know.”

Lilia sighed, heavy with apology. “I would give you your answers if I had them, but I don’t.”

Victor made a quiet sound of discontent. “Yakov said that all he remembered was the name Yuri. Everything happened so quickly, systems getting shut down, there were other things that came first. It’s why I was paired with Yura, we just figured his name hadn’t appeared because he was so young—but then I came here, and…”

“All I can offer is to show you the progress I’ve made,” Lilia said. “And that the decryptions are nearing completion. I don’t have your answers now, but perhaps with some time, I will be able to give them to you.”

Phichit made a considering sound. “That’s great and all, but we’ve still got Sara and Mila and that whole mess, not to mention a bunch of your buddies coming our way. If you’ve been dodging Feltsman, now might be the time to stop doing that.”

Victor’s hand tightened around Yuuri’s. “He’ll order me to come home.”

Seung-Gil blinked slowly and lifted his chin. “If he’s not your Sacrifice, he can’t order you to do anything. It’s just a strongly worded suggestion.”

The room went silent all at once.

Minako looked positively offended. “That’s disloyal as hell.”

Seung-Gil shrugged. Beside him, Phichit didn’t look particularly surprised, and added for himself, “We listen because we want to, not because we have to. I know you run the Academies like factions, but we’re not soldiers, you know. Time had it once that all the Academies were on the same side. Isn’t that the way it should be?”

Lilia pursed her lips. “That will take consent of all involved and significant negotiation.”

Yuuri tilted his head to the side. “No time like the present. You’ve already got two confirmed matches that’ll be split up if we don’t open the lines of communication. It isn’t as simple as hopping on a plane. School transfer paperwork takes time. If Sara wants to move to Russia, she’ll need to apply and get accepted in St. Petersburg, get visas… I don’t know if Mila was in school over there, but either way, they’re looking at _months._ ”

“The Academy in St. Petersburg was its own academic institution,” Lilia replied, but at that, she did look troubled.

“Fighters and Sacrifices are supposed to have their choice of where to study, right? But how many matches have been delayed or stopped altogether because no one’s talking to each other?” Yuuri let Victor’s hand go and leaned forward. “You don’t have the matching data—so what? If the Academies talked to each other, you could log all the names that have already shown. Tell each other who has what student and where. It won’t solve _every_ problem, but it’s a whole lot more than you have right now.”

Victor’s hand curled in the back of the Olympic jacket, heavy against Yuuri’s spine. “Make our own matching data.”

Yuuri nodded. “Yeah.”

Phichit grinned in approval. “Academic visas hold more weight than tourist visas.”

Mari cast a look to Minako, wide-eyed. She turned back to Yuuri. “That’s not secure. We’ll be putting students at risk.”

Frustration washed over Yuuri in a wave. “From what? Foreigners? Seimei was Japanese just like us, Mari. He was born right here. You’re the one who said he attacked the Academy because he was obsessed with power and with his brother—”

“I _know_ what Seimei did, Yuuri!” Mari exploded. “I know what he did and why he did it! My friends _died_ in that attack! If it wasn’t for Minako, if I’d been here—”

Mari cut herself off. She took a long, shuddering breath, and Minako pulled her in without hesitation. Mari pushed her face into Minako’s neck and clung to her, both hands holding tight to Minako’s shoulders.

Yuuri went still. He counted backward. “You were old enough to be here.”

Minako smoothed a hand over Mari’s hair. “If Mari hadn’t been my Sacrifice, she _would_ have been here. I wanted her to live at home. To stay with family. I took the responsibility of bringing her with me whenever I came to Goura. I’d never been so glad for the distance as I was that night.”

Yuuri swallowed hard. He couldn’t imagine what it would have done to him, to his parents, if Mari had been—

Victor’s hand slipped up Yuuri’s back until it rested on the nape of his neck. Yuuri sighed, shivery and shaken, and leaned back again until he could pull Victor’s arm around him, a safety blanket between himself and the cruel realities of the past.

“Who did it, in the end?” Victor asked quietly. “Who was it that stopped him?”

Minako closed her eyes for a moment. She pressed her cheek against the crown of Mari’s head. Maybe to remember more clearly. Maybe to hide from the memories altogether.

“Ritsuka was the only one he ever let close enough,” Minako answered. “No one thought to ask a twelve year old for something like that. But maybe Ritsuka and Seimei had that instinct in their blood. He saw Seimei hurt his Fighter and he just… reacted.”

Barely older than Yuuri had been at the time. The thought made him feel sick.

“Agatsuma wasn’t his Fighter,” Seung-Gil said quietly.

“He might as well have been,” Yuuri replied. “They chose each other.”

He felt Victor turn to look at him, and—

—a siren sound blasted loud enough to rattle eardrums. Yuuri cringed away from the noise.

Mari and Minako snapped to rights. Lilia stood ramrod-straight, their eyes on the doorway as running footsteps echoed down the hall. Yuri grabbed the doorjamb to steady himself as he slid into place, wild-eyed, out of breath. “Victor,” he said. “They’re here.”

Yuuri saw the transformation he’d only seen once before, the _night_ before, when Mila had cornered them on the train platform. Every open, loving piece of Victor sealed itself away behind a stoic expression and a fierce gaze. “Who is it?”

Yuri wavered, and Yuuri realized with a growing sense of coldness that the look on his face was _fear._ “It’s _Exalted.”_

Victor closed his eyes and let out a harsh, pained laugh. “Shit.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog this chapter here](https://maydei.tumblr.com/post/170140206202/title-fated-pairing-victuuri-victor)


	19. Reckless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor prepares to face the intruders. Yuuri makes a choice under dire circumstances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank you all again for the response to the last chapter!! I'm seriously amazed by you all every week. There was a serious period of time where I was afraid I wasn't going to finish this story. Well, after this chapter, I gotta say the risk of my not finishing is next to nothing. I can't wait to see what you think. :3c
> 
> Check out this gorgeous scene from last chapter of [Yuuri taking care of Victor](http://dead-exitium.tumblr.com/post/170269493022/and-i-coudnt-control-myself-so-here-chapter) by the amazingly talented [dead-exitium](http://dead-exitium.tumblr.com/). Also, this absolutely intense comic page from [Victor and Mila's fight](https://jimboree.tumblr.com/post/170391348044/his-hair-was-a-mess-and-his-glowing-hand-was) by my mcfreakin gr8 cousin [jimboree](https://jimboree.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> Shoutout to [Rae](http://extranikiforov.tumblr.com) for keeping me focused and calling out my fractured writing style when I need it. Without her, y'all would be reading a doc that was entirely comprised of sentence fragments and em dashes. I mean.... more than usual. 
> 
> Let's get serious— /kesha voice/ OKAY, SHUT UP. Here we go.

 

 

“I guess Yakov did ally with the North Americans after all,” Yuri said, half-shouting over the sound of the alert sirens.

Victor cursed quietly as he pulled himself away from Yuuri and struggled to his feet. The resolve that radiated between them meant one thing and one thing only.

“You can’t,” Yuuri protested numbly. “Victor. You can’t.”

Phichit, too, leveled him with a doubtful glance. “No offense, but you’re not in any shape to fight, Victor.”

If Yuuri couldn’t feel his pain, his exhaustion, he might have believed the sturdy posture Victor adopted, the resilient set of his spine. But he couldn’t. “They’re here for me and because of me. I’ll take care of it.”

Yuuri clenched his fists and pushed himself to his feet, planted himself firmly between Victor and the door. The alarm screamed through his head and made his ears ring. “Victor—”

Victor sighed and reached out for him, brushed his fingers across Yuuri’s cheek with a wry smile. Yuuri glared at him, silver letters glimmering in his peripheral vision. “You can still call me Vitya when you’re mad at me, Yuuri.”

Love and anger swirled together, the pressure of both crushing his heart. He caught Victor’s hand in his own and squeezed it until they both felt the pain. “Let someone else face them.”

“They’ll just win and demand to get to me anyway. It’ll all be the same in the end, but fewer people get hurt in the process.” Victor tipped his head to the side and stared at him with terrible, aching fondness. “I have to talk to them, at least.”

Yuuri knew it was selfish. He knew he had no right to make any demands, but all he could see were Victor’s tear-stained cheeks, the split in his lip, the way he put more weight on his right leg than his left. His voice wavered. “No.”

Despite that, Yuuri knew Victor understood. He felt the brush of love across his mind, drowning out the siren scream. Yuuri’s reluctance was rooted in the fear of seeing Victor hurt. It wasn’t entirely unreasonable. But it was a fear that Victor couldn’t acknowledge right now, for the sake of everything he stood for.

But the terror was crushing, and Yuuri’s voice a whisper. “You’re still so hurt, Vitya. What if you…” He stopped himself shy of saying _what if you lose?_ “What if they take you? What will I do?”

Victor swallowed, the motion labored. He opened his mouth and closed it again, silent.

And then Mari strode over and put her hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. She leveled Victor with an even stare. “They won’t take him. We won’t let that happen.” She inclined her head to Victor, and Yuuri felt love surge in his chest for his sister, for the bond they shared even now—nothing written, but sealed in blood. “We’re not quite done with you yet, Nikiforov.”

Victor blinked slowly. When he nodded, it was with a light in his eyes that looked almost like happiness. At the very least, a sudden acceptance and understanding of where things stood. That Mari would step in if he were defeated—not for Victor’s sake, but for Yuuri’s.

But that didn’t make it any easier when that light faded. It disappeared all at once, closed behind a hidden door in Victor’s mind, and he limped forward. Even when his face stayed impassive, Yuuri felt a frisson of pain skitter across the surface of his mind. It was so much more than anyone could see on the outside, and that alone made Yuuri afraid. Victor was already pushing himself too far too fast. What would happen if he got seriously injured?

What would happen when he fought by himself?

He brushed by Yuuri’s shoulder. They both paused, the security alarm blaring overhead, but neither needed spoken words to understand the thoughts that passed between them.

Yuuri disagreed with every part of this. He hated it. But anything he said to Victor now would just be a _strongly worded suggestion._

There was nothing he could do. His orders held no weight. He was not Victor’s Sacrifice.

_Please,_ Yuuri begged silently.

When Victor took another unsteady step forward, Yuuri was left behind. _I have to do this._

Yuri, lingering in the doorway, stared at Yuuri expectantly. Mari and Minako dutifully waited for Yuuri to go first, to follow Victor, who did not pause to wait for him.

He didn’t want to go.

He had no other choice.

“I hate you,” Yuuri said helplessly. Then he squared his spine and strode after Victor with purpose, did not falter as he passed Yuri, did not pause or wait to ask as he lifted Victor’s arm and ducked under it, slung it around his own shoulders on Victor’s bad side and helped him to walk with an arm around him in turn. He felt some of the pressure at the back of his mind ease with the gesture. Victor’s wall remained, but maybe a little less high than it had been before.

It was to Victor’s credit that he did not underestimate Yuuri’s unhappiness through this haze he was putting himself in, and seemed to equally value his presence. The sensation of comfort remained, even when the heat of his love was locked away. Similarly, there was no hurt. No amusement. There was no smugness, no sardonic smirk—only grim resolve when he replied, “I love you, too.”

The alarms continued and drowned out the sound of their shuffling footsteps as they headed for the emergency exit. It wasn’t like they could trigger a second alarm, anyway.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Yuuri hissed. “You can barely walk right now. You don’t have anything to prove to these people, whoever they are. You don’t have anything to prove to me. You don’t have to accept their challenge.”

“No one necessarily says they’ll challenge me,” Victor replied.

Yuuri felt an itch in the back of his brain. His spine ached; the furious thrashing of his tail could no longer exist, but he felt it. Oh, did he feel it. “You know that’s the _only_ thing they came here for. Don’t lie to me.”

Victor shot Yuuri a sidelong glance, level but curious, and deep in his eyes underneath the strong persona he projected, there was a flame of warmth. The glow was steady, but felt somehow removed. Yuuri got the distinct sense he was viewing Victor’s love through the wrong end of a telescope; what was usually clear to him suddenly felt very far away.

“It seems I can’t,” Victor said. He didn’t smile.

The realization hit Yuuri all at once. He nearly stopped still, but the knowledge that it would trip them both made him hold steady. His arm tightened around Victor’s waist, but it didn’t spark the same sunshine it usually did. “You’re shutting me out.”

“Yes.” At least he did Yuuri the credit of not lying to him again.

It didn’t make it hurt less. Yuuri couldn’t help it when his hand curled around Victor’s ribs, when his nails dug into the fabric of his own sweatshirt that Victor had wrapped himself in. Part of him selfishly hoped Victor could feel it. The other part of him whined like a wounded animal at the thought of Victor in any kind of pain at all.

They pressed forward to cross the metal threshold of the emergency exit. The flare of sunlight was bright and blinding, the draft that rushed over them frigid. Their breaths immediately turned to vapor in the air, and the sound of the alarms cut out as they stepped off tile and onto earth. Yuuri didn’t need to glance back over his shoulder to know the others were following them, nor did he need to look forward to know that they themselves were headed toward the twinfire bursts of energy at the center of the courtyard. The intruders were surrounded by what must’ve been every student in the school, packed from the edges of the sparse trees to the circle of space that was left around them.

The tension in the air was palpable. The absolute fury when Lilia emerged behind them and saw her students was a vibration in Yuuri’s bones, bruised though they may be. And still, with every step they took, the wall between Victor and Yuuri grew stronger.

It put him on edge. It made him want to cry. It made him want to yell, to bite, if only to draw a reaction from Victor. Something, _anything._

_“Why?”_ Yuuri demanded as they approached the milling, agitated crowd.

Victor’s face was serious, and his eyes did not wander. He offered no soothing touches, no secret smiles, no whispers of affection across Yuuri’s mind. “Because this isn’t your fight. You shouldn’t suffer the consequences.”

The students parted when they saw them approach. Yuuri was burning and freezing all at once, and couldn’t decide whether it was love or rage that made him want to absolutely _shake_ Victor at that moment.

At the center of the pack waited Phichit and Seung-Gil, posture deceptively loose and ready; Yuuri could feel the energy around Phichit crackle and spit with annoyance and promise. Ahead of them was Otabek, stone-faced expression hiding an undercurrent of frustration. Yuuri felt him react with recognition when he sensed their approach, and was hardly surprised when Yuri darted forward to settle himself at Otabek’s side, tail lashing and teeth bared.

The young man who had insinuated himself in Otabek’s personal space could have been his brother. The same dark hair and sculpted undercut, the same warm olive tone to his skin. The distinguishing factor came from the steel-shine glint of the intruder’s eyes and his self-assured smirk, lording his superior height over Otabek with significant relish. His clothes were close-fitting, red and black, and he didn’t seem to be bothered whatsoever by the cold. A woman mirrored Yuri’s posture, comfortably tucked under her partner’s arm with a smile that was all for her companion. The blue of her eyes was vibrant, dark hair sleek and modern—skintight jeans and black blazer perfectly tailored, her lipstick a rich red. They made a stunning couple, down to the shining silver name that curled around the side of their necks, ending just under the sharp angles of their jawlines.

_EXALTED._

They hardly looked old enough to have inspired such a fearful face in Yuri, such a vehement reaction in Victor. They looked… young. Teenagers, if Yuuri read them right. After two years as a TA, he rarely identified underclassmen _wrong,_ and he marked these two as freshman. _Maybe_ sophomores. Completely in love and comfortable with each other to a fault, but they were nothing compared to Victor’s comportment, his poise. Victor was half-dead in his arms already and had more grace than they had between them, Yuuri was sure.

They didn’t deserve Victor’s worry.

And yet it seemed that was exactly what they had and more. So thoroughly that Yuuri himself was being shut out in Victor’s preparation for a resounding defeat.

They both knew how truly damning his injuries were. How would he fight alone when barely able to walk? Even with all his experience, how could he outpace a pair of kids when he’d barely eaten or slept for the past two days?

And to do it alone—

The thought made Yuuri sick. He wanted nothing more than to grab Victor by the back of his own sweatshirt and drag him away, tell _Exalted_ to leave them all in peace when they had no idea of the mess they were making.

It seemed no one had any idea of the mess they were all in together.

“None of you should be out here,” Lilia snapped to the crowd of assembled students, drawing surprised and worried looks from her students, and pulling _Exalted_ ’s attention right to all of them—to Lilia, and to Victor. Twin pairs of blue eyes locked on him, and Yuuri by extension. They took in his sad state and flashed with pre-emptive satisfaction.

Lilia did not seem to notice. “Does the alarm mean nothing to you all? It means _retreat!_ What’s the point of doing practice drills if you ignore procedure in a real emergency?”

“There were intruders!” Protested one small voice from the center of the pack—Danika, honey-blonde and tremor-eared and red-cheeked, puffy and furious in all her small stature. She pointed accusingly at _Exalted,_ who seemed somewhat taken aback at such vehemence from a child. “We drill to defend each other. Isn’t this self-defense?”

“No,” Lilia sighed, pained and put upon. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Self defense happens when you retreat and you’re accosted _anyway,_ Ms. Nekola. Not going out of your way to _do the accosting,_ and then being rescued by your seniors.”

Danika’s expression was something put-out as she looked to Yuri and Otabek, then to the unnamed man and woman.

“We were _not_ rescued,” Danika muttered, and was surrounded by murmurs of agreement.

“Alright, alright,” Minako said as she stepped around Lilia. “Just clear out.”

The crowd shuffled. _Exalted_ glanced around curiously, waiting to see what would happen. And then Danika stood straight, de-facto leader. When Yuri looked over and saw her, Yuuri thought it might be with a glimmer of appreciation. Otabek’s fondness was more obvious. Phichit was conflicted, and Seung-Gil alone kept his attention on the intruders.

And, of course, Yuuri did too.

“No,” Danika said. “We won’t go. That’s two sets of strangers in one day.” She gestured with her chin at Victor. “Who’s he? What’s going on?”

“Now is not the time—”

The male _Exalted_ tipped his head to the side, and the smirk on his face was snide enough to be infuriating. “Wow. I never thought Goura would have such disobedient students. No handle on their own kids in Japan _or_ Russia. How embarrassing.”

“Don’t be rude, Jay,” the woman said with a smile of her own. “A little spirit goes a long way, you’re proof of that. It’s not the students’ fault that their teachers aren’t as strong as Nathalie.”

Yuuri bristled. Minako and Mari, too. Only Victor and Lilia seemed to remain calm, level heads in the face of blatant mockery.

Yuuri could feel that Victor had no taste for it, or for _Jay._ Even when Yuuri stole a glance at him, his expression was stony and his eyes burned cold. Something in it centered Yuuri, too—he found his peace of mind in Victor’s silence.

Focus. Calibration. The preparation for a swift and powerful attack.

“You didn’t have to break through the gates,” Lilia said with a disdainful sniff. “How typically American.”

At that, a muscle in Jay’s jaw twitched. “We’re Canadian, thank you.”

Lilia’s eyes narrowed with intelligent satisfaction, so quietly petty that Yuuri almost laughed at the taste of it on the back of his tongue, coloring the air bitter and bold. “Oh?” she said. “I surely couldn’t tell.”

Jay took a step forward, and at the motion Victor wrenched forward from Yuuri, even as Jay’s female companion held him back.

And this, at last, drew their focus to Victor.

Yuuri’s hands lingered in the air, cold in the absence of where Victor had been and where he’d pulled away so suddenly. In the second between that moment and anyone else speaking, Yuuri caught sight of a tangle in Victor’s loose hair and had the sudden thought of stepping forward and tugging it apart. Of slipping his arms around Victor’s waist from behind and holding him, no matter how pissed off he was. Of forcing their proximity and breaking Victor’s apathy, one gentle touch at a time.

It was too late for that. Of course it was.

“You don’t belong here,” Victor said, and oh, there went _just talking to them_ , Yuuri thought with a scowl. “You’re involved in something that has nothing to do with you on the basis of inaccurate information.”

The woman stared back at Victor, comfortably situated against her partner’s side. Amazingly enough, she managed to look authoritative and strong, even while tucked under his protective stance. “That’s funny, considering Mila Babicheva said that you were off the rails just a few days ago. That you’d completely turned your back on everything you stood for and were leading her on a wild goose chase around the coast.”

Yuuri _felt_ the tension in the air, even if he couldn’t quite feel the strain in his muscles as Victor bared his teeth. “How long has it been since you talked to Mila? Circumstances have changed.”

“We _haven’t_ heard from her,” Jay replied with a scowl. “Feltsman’s getting antsy. She reported she was closing in yesterday morning, then nothing. Where are you keeping her?”

_“Keeping_ her?” Victor scoffed. “Like I could keep Mila anywhere she didn’t want to be. She’s probably with her Bonded right now, if I had to guess. Or weren’t you informed?”

Victor’s aura was a frigid thing to behold. Yuuri could not keep himself away as he stepped closer, touched his fingertips to the outside of Victor’s arm in a gentle, tentative motion. Silent. Supportive. A reminder of fond days and warm nights, wrapped together in blankets, skin to skin.

Of course, the woman shifted her eyes to him immediately. She turned to her companion and leaned up, whispered something into his ear with a shrewd glance that made the man startle as his gaze slid from Victor to Yuuri.

“That’s not?” He asked, and the woman shook her head. “But that’s his jacket.” She shrugged. “Then who is it, Bella?”

Bella shrugged again. Her eyes scanned the crowd and settled on Yuri, still bitterly scowling and situated beside Otabek. She gestured with her chin. “That one.”

“What? That can’t be right.” Jay’s attention was going a mile of minute, pinballing from Yuri to Victor to Yuuri and back. “So who’s that?” He settled on Yuuri. “Who’re you?”

Before Yuuri could answer, Victor cut him off. “I’m the one you have to worry about.”

Yuuri clenched his fist and dug his fingernails into his palm, desperately trying to reign himself in from giving Victor a scolding punch to his arm. They had to provide a united front, no matter how strongly Yuuri felt. Instead, he shot Victor an irritated stare and poured every ounce of his annoyance into their shared stream of consciousness. It didn’t matter that it rolled off the invisible barrier Victor had put up, just like the rain had on the beach that day—what mattered was that Victor knew it was there. Knew _he_ was there.

“That’s true,” Jay said easily enough. “You _are_ the one we’re here for. We expected one betrayer, but finding _Weightless_ is a bonus. Thought traitors would be better hidden.”

Minako stepped around Danika with a quelling glance that clearly said there would be a reckoning for the students’ disobedience later. “You have no idea of the situation we’ve been dealing with, Mr. Leroy.”

At that, Jay lit up with smug pride. He ignored Minako and tightened his arm around his companion. “See, Bella, they _do_ know us.”

“Leroy—oh, Nathalie’s son. Jack, John, whatever your name is,” Victor said with an absent frown. Yuuri could feel his flippant disinterest. The identity of their attacker was not important to him.

Well, it was to him. “It’s _Jean-Jacques,_ ” the boy snarled, all good humor gone. “You would know that if you’d paid any attention to our alliance, Nikiforov. We met during negotiations.”

The crowd murmured. New eyes turned to Victor with wonder and alarm, young students recognizing his name as he stood among them. Yuuri could also sense their unease—they’d seen Yuuri tending to him twice now. If a fight was imminent, they all knew it would not be a fair one.

Though to his credit, Victor held himself as though he were barely injured at all. He tucked his hands into the pockets of Yuuri’s sweatshirt and lifted his chin with an aloof regard that he had never _once_ shown Yuuri. Even now, the shutout was deliberate; the love lingered underneath. And Victor so often lived his life with passion and fire, Yuuri had never seen the side of him that was all ice.

Victor rolled his neck back casually; it popped once as he straightened up. “My apologies. I must not have been paying attention.”

Even Lilia rolled her eyes at Victor for that. Yuuri thought he heard her hiss something under her breath that sounded like _Yakov’s son._

Bella put her hand on her partner’s shoulder. “JJ,” she said softly. “He’s trying to rile you. Don’t let him. You’re better than that.”

The words were gentle, but Yuuri felt the weight of her command in the air. He knew with immediate certainty that, between the two, this JJ was the Fighter and Bella was the Sacrifice.

JJ relaxed one muscle at a time. The ferocious expression on his face smoothed into something civil but irritated. “You’re right. It’s a cheap distraction tactic. We’ve all heard the rumors. Everyone knows _Fated_ ’s lost their touch.”

Yuri made a sound of protest as he pushed away from Otabek and directly insinuated himself in JJ’s personal space, eyes narrowed and ears flattened. The man jerked back with a look of surprise at the accusing finger Yuri leveled at his nose. “You don’t know anything about anything. Shut your mouth before you embarrass yourself.”

JJ squinted down at Yuri. He tipped his head to the side, lips moving silently as he read the word revealed by the slip of Yuri’s v-neck collar, and then—

“What? _Dauntless?”_ JJ’s eyes turned to Bella in shock, then back to Yuri. “Is this some kind of joke? You’re Yuri Plisetsky, right? You have to be.”

“I _said_ you don’t know anything,” Yuri snapped, vibrating with furious energy even as Otabek followed him, pushed around students to make his way to Yuri and grab him by the arm.

“Yura,” Otabek said. “You’re picking fights.”

“He’s the one picking fights!” Yuri insisted with a scowl. His tail flicked irritably. “I’m not gonna let him talk shit about Victor when he has no idea what he’s talking _about.”_

Bella frowned. “Well, no kidding _Fated_ wasn’t fighting well if he was _mismatched_ all along. How could Yakov allow something like that?”

JJ looked disgusted. “Yakov? It’s not his responsibility. _Fated_ must have known right away that it wasn’t right. He fought with someone other than his Matched anyway.”

Victor went still.

But JJ wasn’t done. “A Fighter’s bond with a Sacrifice is supposed to be _sacred._ It’s not just supposed to be thrown around at anyone who walks by on a whim.” He turned his steel-blue eyes to Victor with a new sheen of pure disdain, and Yuuri felt the energy around Victor go sharp. Fractured at the edges. So cold it nearly hurt to stand beside. “So much for loyalty and fidelity. So much for honor. So much for _Fated,_ right Nikiforov?”

Yuuri grabbed Victor before he could snap, whipped around so he stood in front and held him by the shoulders. He read the anger and despair without need for access to Victor’s thoughts.

“Vitya,” Yuuri said quietly, so quietly that _Exalted_ would not hear them. “Listen to Yura. He’s right. They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“I mean, I guess it shouldn’t surprise me.” Yuuri went quiet at the sound of JJ’s words. He turned, careful to keep Victor behind him. But when Yuuri saw them, JJ wasn’t focused on Victor, or even on Yuuri. His eyes sought someone even further back in the crowd.

Yuuri’s gut rolled with dread.

JJ turned his attention to Lilia. “After all, _you_ weren’t bonded to your Fighter either, right? He was just a stand-in until you got tired of him. I’d say _like mother, like son,_ but she’s not really your mom…” He looked back to Victor. “…is she?”

A wave of whispers swept the crowd of students. Yuri had gone pale with whatever terrible expression he saw on Victor’s face. Yuuri could not bear to turn and look, not when he was trying his best to—

“Clear the area,” Victor said, deathly calm. “Now.”

Tension and electricity coiled around Victor like a spring, the air charged and tasting of ozone like the second before a lightning strike. But Victor’s fury would not be so predictable. _Exalted_ expected a storm, but Yuuri had _seen_ Victor’s storm. This was not that. This was a hurricane. A natural disaster.

Clearly Yuuri was not the only one to feel it. At Victor’s command, the students scrambled for cover on the outskirts of the courtyard; Phichit and Seung-Gil rounded up the little ones and shepherded them back the furthest. Otabek and Yuri retreated with nervous glances. The crowd  formed a barrier of people around the perimeter, out of range but desperate to watch.

Humans were predictable that way, always willing to treat suffering as a spectator sport.

“Yuuri. You too.”

A tortured sound got caught in Yuuri’s throat before it could escape. He scratched at the wall that separated their minds, desperate to know Victor’s thoughts again. His feelings. What he was planning. If he was as shaken as Yuuri was as he whispered, “Vitya. Please.”

Bella watched them with interest. JJ still looked agitated.

Victor’s fingertips brushed the small of his back. Yuuri could barely feel them through the fabric of Victor’s borrowed jacket. “It’s not your fight, Yuuri.”

Yuuri closed his eyes. He did not move. “How can you say that to me right now?”

The fingertips turned into a palm laid flat against his spine—his right hand. Yuuri could imagine what it looked like; the pallor of Victor’s skin laid against the white; the contrast of that _damned_ name against the red. “Because I’m not your Fighter.”

“And you think that means you can do whatever you want?” Yuuri demanded. He took half a step forward and pulled away from Victor’s touch, hurt and confused and so _angry_.

Victor let him go without a fight. The wall between them didn’t budge. “That’s exactly what it means.”

“Yeah, well, you’re wrong.” Yuuri turned on a dime. His eyes burned, his glasses were starting to fog, and every inch of space between them prickled as he stared Victor down. He pushed one hand into Victor’s chest _hard,_ knowing it wasn’t the right thing to do, knowing there _had_ to be some other way—but he felt torn in two when Victor wasn’t with him, and it made everything raw.

Victor, to his credit, looked as regretful as he was able when his emotions were locked inside a glass box. But Yuuri knew that if he let this go on, Victor would shatter. Perhaps Yuuri would, too. In the meantime, Yuuri could feel nothing from him that Victor did not want to give. Right now, he gave nothing.

“Get him out of here,” Victor said, and at that moment Yuuri felt hands close around his wrists and pull him away.

“Thank you,” Mari said earnestly, and Yuuri had never hated her like he had in that moment. Never hated Minako. Never hated Lilia. Never hated _fucking_ Victor Nikiforov.

“Don’t,” Yuuri begged. “Victor. Vitya. Don’t.”

Something deep in Victor’s eyes flickered. Yuuri felt a brief moment of consciousness between them, something small and warm that rubbed up against him in a flurry of pain and comfort; it whimpered its apology before it darted back behind the wall, and Victor was gone from him again. “I know you’re afraid,” Victor said and met Yuuri’s eyes. “I’m not. Let me do this for you.”

_For you,_ Yuuri’s mind repeated as he was pulled away. It skipped like a scratched disc, searching for a single stream of clarity among damaged data. So many of the past few days were blending together. _For you for you for you for you for you._

_What about this is for me?_

The closer Yuuri got to the sidelines, the more relieved Phichit looked as he waited for them. The fight had drained out of Yuuri, but the sense of impending doom was as strong as it had ever been.

“Don’t touch me,” Yuuri said as he pulled away from Mari’s hands. He felt wounded. Destroyed. Sent away from the flames as his love walked into hell.

Mari let him go, but when Yuuri rounded on her with an accusing stare, she looked surprised at his conviction, the tenor of his pain. “What’s wrong with you?”

“You shouldn’t have taken me out of there,” Yuuri said. His scalp hurt. The base of his spine hurt. The rest of him felt electric. “He shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Yuuri,” Minako butted in, “there’s nothing you could have done. You were going to get in the way.”

“I don’t _care_ if I was in the way!” Yuuri dragged his hands over his face, then shoved his glasses back into place just a little too hard. The bridge of his nose smarted.

Yuuri didn’t see Yuri arrive, but he could feel him and knew he was there when someone grabbed his wrist—not to push him, but to cling for support. The solidarity and concern of the motion settled something in Yuuri, knowing that at least _someone_ here cared about Victor the way he did.

“He’s gonna get himself killed,” Yuri muttered. _“Exalted_ ’s no joke. There’s talk they’re stronger than _Relentless_ , and they’re like, half your age.”

“Hey,” Mari complained, “Those kids are like twenty at _most.”_

“I think he was talking to me,” Minako replied under her breath, and sounded no happier about it.

“Who cares? Point is, Victor’s about to fight at quarter power by himself, even though he’ll probably fight _better_ now that no one’s arguing with him.” Yuri had the presence of mind to sound appropriately cowed. “If he wasn’t hurt, he might stand half a chance. But a matched pair as strong as _Exalted?_ He’s about to get his ass kicked.”

“I told him,” Yuuri said. “I told him not to do this.”

Mari frowned out at the courtyard where Victor was taking a deep breath, adjusting his stance, JJ and Bella sizing him up all the while. “We’re not gonna let them take him, Yuuri. Don’t worry.”

“It’s not about that,” Phichit said from behind them, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Wounds like he’s got, against a strong pair with strong restraints—bruises can hemorrhage, strains can become breaks. It’s dangerous for a Fighter alone. It’s suicide for someone in his condition. Honor code should prevent this.”

Yuuri was drowning. “Victor doesn’t see it that way. He sees it as his own honor code. To accept the challenge, to Fight and—”

_If you’re not my Sacrifice, I can protect you as much as I like._

“—and to protect me,” he breathed. “Oh no.”

Yuuri _scraped_ at the wall in his mind. For the first time he realized that any pain he felt was entirely his own. He could no longer feel the ache of Victor’s leg, the throb of his headache. He couldn’t feel his anger or anxiety or his fear, even if he denied it existed at all. He _had_ to be afraid. Victor knew the consequences better than anyone. Fighting was his life. Fighting _alone_ had been his reality long before Yuri came along just a year before. That meant at least ten years of battling by himself with no one to support him. No one to back him up. No one to tend to his wounds the way Yuuri had the night prior. No one to hold him as he fell asleep.

No one but Yuuri.

_“Bear the consequences,”_ Yuuri hissed suddenly. “He doesn’t want me to feel it. That idiot.”

Mari looked at him, taken aback. “What?”

Yuuri wanted to scream. The words got caught in his throat and he had to force them out. “He doesn’t want me to feel it as they hurt him.”

“I declare this to be a battle of spells,” Bella said, and stepped forward. Her face was serene, perfectly poised, red lipstick truly regal. “We as the challengers set terms: we fight to full restraint. If you lose, you must return with us to face trial and sentencing in St. Petersburg. You give us the data you have acquired from Lilia. You surrender the right for anyone to challenge us on your behalf.”

Mari took in a startled breath. Minako went rigid beside her.

“That’s playing dirty,” Phichit said disbelievingly. “They can’t do that.”

“If Victor agrees,” Seung-Gil replied, “then yes. They can.”

Minako cut in, urgent as she reached out to grab Yuuri by the shoulder. Yuuri barely managed to turn his attention to her, to tear it from Victor. “What did you mean, he doesn’t want you to feel it?”

Yuuri’s eyes started to water. He pulled his glasses off and shoved them in his pocket, wiping his eyes with the backs of his nameless hands. “I feel it. I feel him,” he confessed. Yuuri sniffled. “His pain. His thoughts. When he needs me. But not right now. He’s shutting me out.”

Mari looked horrified. “That’s not—Yuuri, that’s not right. That can’t be right.”

“I know what I feel!” Yuuri snapped, and dashed the tears from his eyes. He rounded back to the courtyard, his vision a blur of colors and indistinct distant shapes. It didn’t matter. He could sense the twin flames of JJ and Bella; he could identify the soft glow of coals that emanated from Victor’s heart.

“If I win, you are to leave immediately. You leave Goura. You leave Japan. You go home and you never terrorize these people again. And you convince Nathalie of the Seven Moons to open communication with the purpose of reunifying the Academies. Those are my terms.” Victor’s energy was limited at best, weakened by pain, though strengthened by resolve. He was solid in his convictions. He held no trace of doubt, and showed no trace of fear. But through the wall, he could have been feeling any number of things, and Yuuri would not know—a forced dissociation from his sense of self for the sake of survival and victory.

“But he doesn’t have the data,” Yuuri said softly. Realization sank into his bones. “He’s going to let them take him.”

“What?” Minako demanded. “Why would he do that? The data’s what he came here for.”

“Because he loves me.” Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut, then blinked them open again. He smoothed a hand back through his hair and pushed his bangs out of his face. He didn’t want his hair to stick to his tears. “He knows they’ll come back. It’s inevitable now, since Mila bonded with Sara and Yuri bonded with Otabek. But if he lets _Exalted_ take him, if he lets them think he has information he doesn’t, he’ll buy us time. Well,” Yuuri’s voice went quiet, “he’ll buy _you_ time.”

“Terms accepted,” Bella said. _“Kings and queens reign true and enact orders of justice. We are Exalted.”_

_“I am the Fighter for Fated.”_

_“Initiate system!”_

The wail of the engaging systems was no longer a stranger to him. The sharp wave of prickling sensation through his body was still a shock, but not an unmanageable one.

“I warned you,” Yuri said. “About Victor. What he’s like.”

Yuuri blinked slowly, absorbing the words. It was true. Yuri had, and maybe Yuuri should have taken more stock in his words. Maybe he should have tried harder to stop Victor before he went so far, but—

—the practical side of Yuuri saw the necessity for violence. And though he felt a wary respect for Victor’s capabilities that was laced with worry, he was no more afraid of Victor now than he’d been when they stood together on the beach, when they’d lain together in bed, when he melted into Yuuri’s hands and unconditional love.

Unconditional.

_Victor, I’m not afraid at all._

“I can’t let this happen,” Yuuri said. He took a deep breath and centered himself. “I won’t.”

Minako reached out and snagged Yuuri by the wrist, held _hard_ until the bones ground together and Yuuri hissed with pain entirely his own. “Yuuri, don’t you dare. I know you’re new to this, but it’s against the rules. No one can interfere once a challenge is set. No one can break them up until someone wins or cedes the match.”

“No. _No,”_ Yuuri insisted. He tugged at Minako’s grip, testing. “He needs me.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re not named. Yuuri; whatever you have isn’t something anyone’s ever seen,” Minako replied. And that meant—

—she believed him.

Yuuri stopped struggling. He turned his eyes to Mari, and then to Lilia where she stood, silent and watching. “He needs me,” Yuuri repeated. Named or not named, none of it mattered.

“There is nothing you can do. Now is not the time to be reckless,” Lilia replied. Her expression was hard but sympathetic as it lifted above Yuuri’s head and settled on Victor. “He chose to do this alone.”

_He chose—_

Victor had come here against his will, against everything he stood for, with a young partner in tow that he was responsible for. Against everything that made sense, he had come looking for Lilia and found Yuuri instead.

_He chose—_

They had been drawn together from the very beginning. From that very first day, Yuuri had been preternaturally aware of everything Victor did. He’d been given answers. In a strange sense, he felt like he’d made a friend. He had found Victor and Yuri later in a state of exhaustion and distress. Yuuri took them in, and Victor had told him how kind he was for it.

_He chose—_

Everything happened so quickly. Touch became critical. Love became unavoidable. Yuuri could hardly remember the time when they’d avoided the magnetism between them. Victor was loyal, Victor was kind, Victor was _gone._ When he returned, they swiftly fell into intimacy and togetherness that neither could have anticipated. Yuuri had placed his priorities to his family over his affection for Victor, until the moment he didn’t.

_He chose—_

Victor protected him. Victor bled for him. Victor hurt for him. For Yuuri. Victor’s reality was ripped from him in a single night; he found himself alone again, and unable to be with Yuuri the way they’d both wanted. They’d fallen together anyway, blindly hoping, _praying_ that something might change. That they might be meant for each other after all. Time and time again, the universe showed them they weren’t.

_He chose—_

_“Single burst! Restrict his motion, immovable iron chains!”_ JJ commanded, and Yuuri felt the energy gather around him, amassing to strike—

_He chose to do this alone._

“No he didn’t,” Yuuri said.

He wrenched his wrist from Minako’s grip and _ran._

The vicious swearing and amalgam of curses that came from behind him were no longer Yuuri’s concern. His only thought was getting to Victor, on closing the distance between them, and though Yuuri could not see particularly well, he knew the moment he slid to a halt that he was right where he wanted to be.

“Yuuri!” Victor snapped, and the burst of panic he felt was so whole and consuming that Yuuri nearly sobbed with relief. “Yuuri, _move—!”_

“Hey, what the _fuck?!”_ JJ called from across the courtyard. “Shit— _damn it—”_

Yuuri bent his knees and braced himself at the same time he felt Victor’s hand fist in the back of his sweatshirt, ready to pull him out of the way. But Yuuri would not be moved. Not again.

This was his choice, too.

The rush of energy unraveled from its condensed form at JJ’s hesitation, but it could not be fully stopped once it had been let loose. Any chance that Victor may have defended against it was ruined when Yuuri startled him and broke his concentration.

Of course, Yuuri _wanted_ this pain. That was the _point._

The light impacted with a force like a punch, caught Yuuri in the chest and neck and glanced off his jaw, still with enough force to knock him breathless. Yuuri was immediately thankful that his glasses were tucked in his pocket. He was even more thankful that he’d taken the hit instead of Victor.

It burned like condensed fire and flame and _heat,_ and even after the light melted around his body, Yuuri could still feel the sting. He could see the brightness behind his eyes, rainbow mashes of color like staring into the sun. He could feel the electric sensation in his chest, pain mixed with heart palpitations, and oh, shit, wow, that _did_ hurt. He hunched over, gasping for air—

“Yuuri! God _damn_ it, what were you thinking? I told you I could handle this. _Shit._ Yuuri. _Yuuri,_ say something—”

Yuuri wavered on his feet, but dug in hard. _I will not fall. I will not move. I will not let him do this alone._

And then—

—the chain burst to life.

It settled around his neck like a collar, thick and heavy, cold to the touch. Compared to the heat left in his skin, the contrast was almost a relief. However, the tight loop around his airway was distracting; Yuuri took a few labored breaths just to make sure he could. Yes, he could breathe, despite the way it pinched his skin, despite the weight that sought to bow his head and pull him to the ground.

Yuuri would not bow.

“Y–Yuuri?”

He summoned all his strength of will and pulled himself upright, hissing and huffing against the cold of the chain that was swiftly becoming unpleasant. It wasn’t unbearable, though, and that was all that mattered.

Victor was wide-eyed, broken-open and raw. His hands shook as he reached out, his lips parted soundlessly as he touched the chain around Yuuri’s neck with the barest brush of fingertips, across his throat, testing the give. Eyes wet, mouth trembling. Visibly overwhelmed, and trying so hard to cling to his composure—

Yuuri reached for Victor’s hands, pulled them away from the chain and brought them between their bodies. He wove their fingers together with resolve.

“I’m not leaving you,” Yuuri said firmly. “Not now, not ever. And you’re not leaving me.”

Victor said nothing. He stared down at their hands.

Yuuri squeezed them in his own. His heart fluttered anxiously, but not with doubt. He’d never been so sure of something in his life. “Hey, look at me.”

Victor did, his red-rimmed gaze so terribly fragile.

“I love you.”

Victor shivered; his eyes squeezed closed and tears dripped down his cheeks. “I love you, too.”

Yuuri could not possible have cared less about anything _but_ Victor in that moment. JJ and Bella were stalled in shock. The chain around his throat was inconsequential. Yuuri reached out to cup Victor’s cheeks in his palms, to wipe away his tears with the pads of his thumbs. Victor was the only thing that mattered. “You’re mine, Vitya. No matter what.”

And then Victor started to laugh.

Beautiful. Triumphant. He opened his eyes, bright blue, and turned his face into Yuuri’s right palm. He pressed reverent kisses there in between breaths, then leaned in close and threw his arms around Yuuri’s neck. He kissed Yuuri like the world was ending. Maybe it was.

Yuuri let himself sink into it, but only for a moment; he reeled back, his mind full of questions, not knowing where to start or what to ask.

“Yes,” Victor whispered against his mouth. “I _am._ I’m _yours.”_

The wall between them came crashing down.

_LoveJoy—ohmygodfinally—ReliefVictory—fuckIloveyou—AmazementLongingLoveLoveLove—_

Victor laced their right hands together, then pressed them against his heart. He touched his forehead to Yuuri’s. He looked down, his smile so achingly sincere that Yuuri could not help but echo it, up until the moment he realized why he should.

Two hands.

Ten fingers.

Ten letters.

_FATED_

_FATED_

One name, times two.

“Oh,” Yuuri breathed. “Oh. Oh my god. _Victor, oh my god—”_

Victor hiccuped and sobbed and clutched Yuuri close, kissed Yuuri’s face and forehead and temples and the crown of his head. They laughed together, breathless and overcome until their sides hurt.

There were no words.

Fortunately, they didn’t need them.

_I love you, I love you so much. Don’t you ever leave me._

_You’ll never get rid of me. You’re stuck with me now._

_Finally. Finally._

_I’m so glad I found you._

“Hey!” JJ called across the courtyard, sounding slightly hysterical. “What the hell, Nikiforov? This is against the rules! A battle is between two pairs _only!”_

They shared a glance, and with it, a thought. When they moved, it was in perfect synchronicity from the swivel of their step to the beating of their hearts. One Fighter. One Sacrifice. One unit, one team, bound by a name written on their bodies.

And this fate was theirs to share.

Yuuri released his hand, reached into their consciousness and found their pain and took it all. His breathing shuddered as he absorbed the aches, willingly brought them into himself and claimed them for his own. He put up a wall between that feeling and Victor, but left everything else open; it was worth Victor’s worry for the moment when his agony was eased.

Victor took a step forward and turned back to Yuuri with wide eyes. Yuuri bared his teeth in a pained, poignant grin. “I’m okay,” he said softly. “It’s temporary. Let _me_ do this for _you.”_

Victor stared at him. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he nodded.

“Vitya.”

Victor blinked, the plane of his mind loving and open, unmarred by hesitance or fear as he waited for Yuuri’s command.

Yuuri’s grin turned sharp. “I want us to win. Will you do that for me?”

With a new sense of focus, Victor turned to face _Exalted._ He took a step away from Yuuri, then another when he found the movement painless. His stride was even, purposeful, a calm presence that was radiant at the back of Yuuri’s mind.

“Well?” JJ demanded. Bella’s eyes were wide; they met Yuuri’s with a sudden spark of understanding.

_“No life without love, no love without life, we stand together.”_ Victor straightened to his full height. The timbre of his voice was momentous, powerful—just like it had been that day at the beach, multiplied fourfold. He was not alone anymore. _“I command as I am commanded. I protect and I am protected._ **_We_ ** _are Fated.”_

They took a breath and let it out, together.

Victor smiled.

_“And I will not lose to you.”_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog this chapter](https://maydei.tumblr.com/post/170406942282/title-fated-pairing-victuuri-victor) | [scream at me directly](http://maydei.tumblr.com/ask)


	20. Fated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fated vs. Exalted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH HOLY FUCK, considering I just finished this chapter not that long ago, I am so glad to be rid of it. Apologies if this one's a little rougher than normal. Thank you to [Rae](http://extranikiforov.tumblr.com) who still managed to pull through for me despite being under a huge amount of stress today. Love ya bb <3
> 
> Also, check out this [awesome Victor fanart](https://dohrnaira.tumblr.com/post/170552221053/i-dont-know-how-to-describe-this-its-what) by [dohrnaira](https://dohrnaira.tumblr.com/)!! Thank you so so much!! And thank you to everyone who has commented, kudos'd, bookmarked, and screamed at me on Tumblr. You're all beyond fantastic.
> 
> We're almost there, y'all. Almost at the end. But without further ado...

 

 

_Be on your guard. They’ll strike twice as hard now that they’re threatened._

_I knew what I was getting into. I’m not afraid._

The sound of Victor’s voice in his mind was a comfort; Yuuri’s reply was barely a coherent thought. Everything felt better like this, open—each and every piece of their minds were ready and aligned, minus the pain Yuuri had taken into himself.

It ached. _He_ ached. But there were so many more important things, such as Victor being able to move freely and without agony. All Yuuri had to do was stand still and endure.

He could endure. He _would_ endure.

“What the _fuck,_ ” JJ repeated. He looked halfway to a heart attack, raw panic mixed with disbelief. “Did you—did he—did he just get his _name_ by throwing himself into the middle of a fight?”

Yuuri met JJ’s eyes across the field, and his lips curled in a smile. He couldn’t help but be smug when he’d waited for this for so long—but, too, unbelievably happy.

Victor was his. Victor was _his._

JJ scowled at him in reply. “Are you _nuts?_ Sacrifices aren’t supposed to take direct hits! I could have killed you!”

“You didn’t,” Yuuri said. “And I’m here. You’re not taking him.”

“We’re not— _really?_ That’s what this is about?” JJ tossed a scornful glance at Victor. “He’s not worth your time, dude.”

Yuuri bared his teeth.

 _He’s trying to wind you up,_ Victor whispered through his mind.

 _It’s working._ Yuuri lifted his head, heedless of the chain around his throat that sought to weigh him down. _Let’s do this._

Ahead of him, Victor’s shoulders straightened. Victor tipped his head slightly to the side, one ear exposed and facing Yuuri as though he were still trying to listen for a sound that only they could hear. _We’ve never fought together before._

_Does it matter?_

_You know this isn’t normal, right?_

_Have we ever been?_ Yuuri could not see Victor’s face as he turned fully forward, but he could tell from the bright flare of warmth that he was smiling. Yuuri was too, his eyes on JJ as he said, “I’ll decide who’s worth my time, not you.”

“The terms stand,” Bella interjected before JJ could get a word in edgewise. She said it as though she expected Yuuri to argue. “If you lose, he comes with us. No one else can step in.”

“The terms stand,” Yuuri agreed with a curl of his lip, derision of an unknown origin. “It doesn’t matter. You’re not taking him.” Yuuri squinted, hoping to make more distinct shapes out of the fuzzy details of his vision. _You should be careful. I can’t see well enough to help._

 _So put your glasses on._ Even in his mind, Victor sounded amused. Yuuri had the absent thought of not wanting them to get broken; it seemed even impressions were discernible between them, because Victor added, _We have to get you contacts._

“We’ll see,” said Bella, and with little more than a flicker of warning, it was on.

Light spread underneath their feet to the edges of the courtyard, a lit platform with set boundaries for their battle. Restricted as he was, Yuuri wouldn’t be moving anyway.

 _“Double burst!”_ JJ commanded. Energy shot from each hand and rushed forward.

 _“Defend!”_ Victor countered, arms stretched outright, and—

—the shield that erupted from his hands was strong, translucent and shining. It formed a complete arc before them, around them, above them. When JJ’s attack struck it, the surface rippled like water. The attack was consumed, destroyed, the only sign it had ever been was the breeze that ruffled Victor’s hair.

“Oh,” Yuuri murmured in wide-eyed surprise, and he heard the distant chorus of shocked whispers behind him. He took his glasses from the pocket of Victor’s jacket and put them on to pull the details into focus.

He’d never seen a shield quite like that. He’d seen others: wispy, impermanent, shimmering in the air—but this could have been made of glass and gold, if not for the strength it showed.

 _It’s beautiful,_ Yuuri whispered in his mind; his lips parted in wonder.

Though it was not tangible, the energy around Victor crackled with pleasure. Yuuri’s approval was a shower of sparks. Victor glowed with the praise.

And Yuuri was warm with his joy. Amazed and contented in equal measures. It was with fascination, with satisfaction that he said, “Show them we won’t be moved.”

Victor’s focus narrowed to a pinpoint, impossibly dense. It broke his shield apart in visible shards. _“We will not be swayed. Our roots run deep. They break through the cracks.”_

The manifestation of Victor’s magic was one part a glimmer of green, one part tangible substance. With his glasses, Yuuri could nearly see the growing leaves at the very moment that vines erupted from the ground and snared JJ’s ankle.

Yuuri barely had time to blink.

 _“Trees grow. Leaves fall. Collapse.”_ Victor’s hands tightened into a fist, a purposeful movement like pulling on reins when they fell to his sides. JJ was pulled to his knees, and caught himself with his palms on the ground. Moments later, blood dripped sluggishly from Bella’s hands.

Where the vine snaked around JJ’s ankle and up his calf, a chain burst to life around Bella’s leg. She grimaced as she tested its hold and realized there was no give to it at all.

“Fighting with metaphors?” JJ said, shock and disbelief on his face as he pried away the vine from his foot. Still, the cuff around Bella’s ankle did not budge.

Yuuri could feel Victor’s frown. “You have to give meaning to your spells.”

JJ scowled. “I don’t need flowers and butterflies to have a good offense.”

“No,” Victor said, and Yuuri could hear a teacher’s exasperation in his voice, “But it helps.”

Irritation and anger built up in waves around JJ, cresting when he looked back and saw Bella restrained. “I’ll show you a good offense.”

 _Victor, bend your knees,_ Yuuri thought suddenly. _Be prepared to move._ Yuuri’s muscles instinctively loosened, prepared for dancer’s footwork that he himself would not be able to complete with the tether around his neck, with the aches weighing him down. However, he could push the image of it into Victor’s mind—and so he did.

JJ’s barrage came in a flurry of movement, swift and precise—shot after shot of condensed orange light that sped at Victor without mercy. If it weren’t for the readiness that Yuuri felt in his mind, he might have been worried. The sight still elicited a nervous flutter from his stomach.

But Victor was ready, and without pain holding him back, Victor was _fast._

He spun away from the first, ducked the second, and somewhere in between, managed to shoot back an arrow of blue-toned light with an outward push of his palm. The blue and the orange passed each other as they sped across the courtyard toward their respective enemies; but the last volley of JJ’s attacks was met by Victor, waiting, hands outstretched.

 _“Repurpose,”_ Victor commanded. He caught the burst in his hands, held it and spun it between his palms.

 _“Intensify.”_ The glow brightened to that of a small star.

Victor was a soldier through and through. Yuuri would never be able to change that. But that tiny pulse of pure, primal satisfaction was something shared between them. His pride in his work was something Yuuri could appreciate. Something they _both_ could feel. _“Return.”_

JJ hopped out of the way of Victor’s first shot, still flying, but put himself directly in the path of the second. It hit him square in the abdomen, and JJ doubled over, arms around his torso in pain.

Isabella turned her head and retched into the dirt. She was still coughing when the restraint flared to life, a brace that strapped one arm across her front, immobile, her chest and stomach constricted.

Yuuri nearly felt bad for her.

JJ gagged once, then rubbed across his mouth with the back of his hand. He stood and pivoted, facing sideways—his eyes on Yuuri and Victor, body tilted toward his Sacrifice. “Bella, sweetie. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, voice thick with discomfort. “I can handle it. Just get them, babe. Don’t worry about me.”

“I always worry about you,” JJ said, almost too soft to hear, and when he turned to square up against Yuuri and Victor, his eyes were lit with fire. New purpose. He sank into a fighting stance. “I always heard your footwork was weak, Nikiforov. Learned some new tricks from your traitor friends?”

“Yes,” Victor said, and mirrored his posture. “Learning new things can be helpful. You should try it sometime.”

 _Don’t antagonize him,_ Yuuri scolded.

 _Angry people make mistakes,_ Victor replied. He felt _harsh,_ somehow. The atmosphere drew in tight around him as he prepared himself for JJ’s onslaught.

Yuuri sighed aloud. _Angry people hit twice as hard._

_Then I won’t let him hit us._

Yuuri wished that the word _us_ didn’t calm him in the face of Victor’s recklessness, wished it didn’t center the prickling that lingered under his skin. _When this fight is over, I won’t be able to mask your pain. Don’t strain yourself. You can still get hurt, you just won’t be able to feel it._

“So what are your orders?” Victor asked. Quiet. Expectant. Perhaps as though he were waiting for Yuuri to direct him all along.

 _Oh,_ Yuuri thought.

 _Command me, Yuuri._ More desperate, now. _I’ve waited all my life to do what you tell me._

Yuuri could not touch him at this distance, but had the sudden desire to do so. Instead, he reached up to touch the chain at his own throat, ground himself. “Focus,” Yuuri said, for both of their benefit. “You need to be off your feet. I want this done as soon as we can. They’ve had more time together, but you’ve been fighting longer.”

Victor looked back over his shoulder—smiling, radiant, wide-eyed and wanting for Yuuri’s direction. “Okay. Good. What else?”

JJ snarled. _“Bruise deep to bone. Hold nothing back, leave nothing standing.”_

“Move!” Yuuri said. Victor dodged in time with his thoughts, pivoted and stepped out, eyes sharp with the depth of his attention. He swiveled around a second shot.

The third caught him in the shoulder and sent him staggering backward.

Yuuri shouted with pain that Victor did not feel, whined with the doubled sensation and cradled his arm close to his body in the moments before a series of thick confining straps bound him beyond movement. A chain from his shoulder and from his elbow anchored at the ground, and it took all of Yuuri’s strength to remain standing.

He breathed—it was all he could do. In for four, out for eight. He thought with a few breaths the pain might start to fade. It didn’t.

Yuuri cursed under his breath and grit his teeth. The anxious energy of the crowd behind him was a distraction. With brutal efficiency, he closed them out. They were not his concern. Instead, he zeroed in on every tremor and flux from JJ and Bella.

_Yuuri. Yuuri, look at me._

He forced himself to find Victor’s eyes, to open himself to Victor’s concern. The roll of worry over him was nearly nauseating. But he would not snap—he couldn’t. To scold Victor for his inattention would only drive a rift between them now. Instead, they needed to think and feel as one. One unit. One name.

“Focus,” Yuuri repeated through his teeth. “Please. Not on me, on them.”

He felt the resistance in Victor’s mind, the unhappy obligation as he did so. _You’re hurt._

_I’ll manage. But I don’t want to do that again._

It hurt. It _still_ hurt. Yuuri focused on Victor instead—matched the tempo of their breathing, the rise and fall of their chests, the pace of their hearts.

He could do this. He could bear this. If it meant Victor could fight more efficiently, this was what Yuuri would do for his Fighter.

Victor’s voice cut through the chaos of his mind. _I love you._

Yuuri blinked to clear his eyes, caught sight of the tension in Victor’s shoulders, the mess of his battle-mussed hair. It wasn’t until he felt the flicker of Yuuri’s recognition that he seemed to relax and go fluid once more.

 _I love you too._ Yuuri pulled himself together with a heavy breath. _Vitya._

Victor’s attention went to him with laser focus. _Yuuri?_

 _Box him in. Trap him, and strike._ He forced a smile through his pain. “Play it smart.”

Pure, raw satisfaction. Contentment _._ “If you insist.”

“You’re right,” JJ said with all the smug attitude of a teenager who thought they were winning. “That did work better, didn’t it, Nikiforov?”

 _I wouldn’t know, I didn’t feel it,_ Victor thought, biting back his urge to rile JJ again.

Yuuri sent a pulse of irritation and conviction through the bond. _He’s right, it did work better. Don’t tell him that. And for my sake, don’t give him any more advice._

_Fair enough._

Affection, determination—feelings rebounded between them, and Victor wound up, ready to go once again. He exhaled in a steady stream, the vapor condensing in the air. _“Ice, layer and break. A storm of shards.”_

JJ tensed for an attack—and slackened with confusion when the particles of ice formed a circle around Victor instead. They floated ominously in the air, glinting in the sunlight like pieces of glass. Victor reached out to touch one, and Yuuri felt the slightest press of sharp sensation against the pad of his finger. Of course, Victor knew enough not to hurt himself, or Yuuri by extension. These weapons were not meant for him, after all.

He exhaled again, and the single ring around him formed a twin—and then another, another, another, until five individual circlets of ice shimmered, rotating on the frigid breeze, Victor’s hair a silver cape streaming around his shoulders.

Victor had left the ice too soon, too young to reach his full potential. But perhaps the ice had never really left Victor.

Beautiful. Powerful. Capable.

 _Yuuri’s_ for life.

Victor burst into motion all at once, his hand’s forward motion sending the first volley at JJ. The other snapped out just as quickly, aiming for the space JJ had jumped to avoid the first barrage. The third, the fourth—Victor narrowed the distance between bursts until, with the fifth, he had nowhere to dodge that wasn’t occupied.

Despite the hasty attempt at a shield, JJ wasn’t fast enough. The ice shards caught him in the chest and side—not particularly deep, but more than enough for Bella to gasp at the piercing cold.

At her open collar, pinpricks of blood bloomed and dripped down into the fabric of her shirt, red hidden by the black. JJ whipped around at the sound of her bitten-back whimper. When he saw the blood that streaked her chest, and the subsequent lash of chains that bound her other arm tight across her torso, he bared his teeth.

The aura of his energy flickered with rage. His fists clenched at his sides.

“Do it,” she said through the tension of her clenched jaw.

JJ spun to face them, every line of his body rigid and tense. Victor shifted his weight in anticipation, took a step back to be closer to Yuuri.

 _Steady,_ Yuuri whispered into his mind. Victor sent back a silent ping of assent, still consumed by his focus.

JJ clapped his hands together and drew them apart. Between them hovered a ball of light, spinning like a vortex—blood red.

Victor tensed at the sight of it. That never meant anything good.

_“Blood for blood. Opponent set, target locked: Fated.”_

JJ wound up like one might to throw a baseball, but when he released, the ball of light was barreling for Victor. Victor cursed violently, and Yuuri was silently relieved that he’d managed to lighten his footwork when he spun out of the way—

—the attack swerved with him, redirecting to follow Victor once more.

“Vitya, dodge!” Yuuri commanded. Worry choked him, and he could see Victor react to his emotions, nervously meeting his gaze. JJ’s homing beacon closed in on him, and Victor waited until the last moment; gathered his momentum as it shot toward them both, and slid underneath it.

He was back on his feet in an instant, eyes wild and teeth bared, ready to form a defense that would meet it head-on and prevent it from making contact, but the light was still going—

—heading straight for Yuuri.

Victor’s sudden terror felt like a vise around Yuuri’s lungs.

And JJ’s panicked scrambling as he realized the mistake he’d made in his anger. “Shit, no! _Return!”_

It didn’t matter. He hadn’t specified Victor as the target: just _Fated._ Without the limits of strict command, to an unchecked spell on the loose, even a restrained Sacrifice would do.

_No nonono that’s against the rules, he can’t do this, YUURI—_

There was no way to brace himself this time. The attack struck him in the face, hard.

The last thing he was aware of was his glasses hitting the ground hard enough to crack, only a moment before Yuuri, too, dropped.

 

* * *

 

It felt as though someone were calling his name from very far away. Whoever that someone was, they had touched his face—tentative, so gentle. Even still, the pain remained, pulsing behind his eyes.

Chilled fingers were shaking as they touched Yuuri’s brow. Panicked words enveloped him in a foreign language he could not understand. There was a warm, wet sensation that dripped through his hair, and then the bereft absence of a kind touch.

He drifted, not quite conscious, not quite unconscious, struggling to pull himself back to rights—

—that was when the fury started.

The growl was like something an animal would make, shocked and wounded, standing over its mate. Something in it called to Yuuri, a plaintive whimper concealed at the heart of his protector. He recognized it as overwrought worry, cloaked in a pelt of rage.

“You illegally targeted my Sacrifice!”

“It was an accident—”

“I demand you cede the match. _Now!”_

“I… I can’t do that.”

“JJ, maybe we—”

“Bella, we can’t.”

The voice he knew to be Victor was toneless, _cold._ “After all this, after challenging me while I was already injured, you now target my Sacrifice. You knock him unconscious outside the rules of combat. You refuse to follow the honor code and resign, and you refuse me the ability to get him medical attention. If I am to cede the match to get him the care he needs, I am forced to forfeit my freedom to you. So you would have me carry on _alone_ and _without orders_ after committing a banned maneuver, and refuse to either take responsibility or grant your victim mercy. _Am I understanding this correctly?”_

_“Jay—”_

“Bella.”

“...I know.” She paused, and sounded terribly regretful and resigned when she said, “Yes. We carry on.”

Angry murmurings all around. Infuriated shouts that held little meaning to Yuuri now. He’d almost forgotten their battle had spectators.

At the center of it all, Victor was still. The moment before a star went supernova. _“Then I will show you no mercy in return.”_

Yuuri tried desperately to open his eyes. All he could see was black.

He panicked. At that moment, Victor struck.

Yuuri could not see the battle that happened around him, but he could feel the magic, the energy in its ebbs and flows, its sparks and streams as it billowed around him. Searing hot. Freezing cold. He heard snapping and snarling and the grind of footsteps on frozen ground, the cry of a woman, the shout of a man.

He could feel the flames of Victor’s violence, the lash of his pain—

—his _pain._

When Yuuri had been knocked unconscious, he had lost his grip on the barrier sparing Victor the agonies he’d accrued. Yuuri drew inside as rapidly as he could manage, ignoring the voices to the best of his ability. He _reached,_ found Victor and felt his shock of awareness as Yuuri took hold of his pain and pulled it _back_ , peeled it away from him like he’d peeled off Victor’s bloody clothes the night before.

_Yuuri!_

Yuuri cringed and shuddered as the stings and aches set into his bones. He managed a weak ping of response; curled in on himself as much as he could in a futile protective measure. He’d chosen this. This was for Victor. He could think of little else.

_Yuuri, Любимый мой, no, please, I can handle it. Take it easy, you’re hurt._

Yuuri blinked repeatedly. The blackness remained; his eyes stung of their own measure, burned with tears. He tightened his grip on their shared suffering as a child might cling to a blanket. _I can’t see._

 _There’s a restraint over your eyes_ _. Stay still. It’ll be over in a moment._

A restraint over his eyes. He was blinded, bound, collapsed. Likely bleeding. The bridge of his nose was being crushed by whatever was pulled over his eyes, forcing him to breathe through his mouth. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so terrifying if Yuuri remembered falling, if he remembered succumbing to the restriction that limited his sight. He didn’t, though—instead, he just felt alone. He reached for Victor through the thread of their minds, seeking comfort.

Anger was all he found. A swell of magic rose in the air, burning so hot it stung Yuuri’s tongue. _“Your choices were incendiary; let them burn you.”_

A hiss, a gasping cry—sounds so eerily reminiscent of the night before that they echoed in Yuuri’s ears, and he knew them well before the scent of burned cloth reached his nose. He was hurting them for the sake of hurting them. Exacting revenge, not justice. Not for Yuuri, but for himself.

“Vitya! Stop!” Yuuri commanded through the dark, and everything ground to a halt.

He could feel the tremble in Victor’s hands as clearly as if it were his own. The rush of blood through his ears. It was only when everything went still that Yuuri realized how cold the ground was, how much his head hurt. That he wanted to be held. Comforted.

Maybe he _was_ afraid.

“Please,” Yuuri said softly. _Help me up. I want to see you._

He wasn’t sure whether he expected Victor to argue or not. Yuuri took his silence for indecision. The first touch of fingers against his face made him flinch involuntarily. The responding wave of alarm, of sadness and apology, was offered as a balm.

“I’m here,” Victor said quietly. He touched Yuuri’s cheek with infinite gentleness and care. “I’m right here. _Restriction: render null. Release all._ ”

The sudden brightness was blinding; the blood returning to his limbs _hurt._ Yuuri kept his eyes squeezed closed until the reddish blur that filtered through his eyelids didn’t seem like staring into the sun.

“Can you lift your head, Yuuri? I’m not going to move you until I know you can do it yourself.”

Yuuri cracked open his eyes. Victor took up his entire field of vision, dirt-streaked, hands blood-smudged and fidgeting as he crouched at Yuuri’s side. It was with gargantuan effort and a wave of nausea that Yuuri lifted his head from the ground, pushed himself up with his forearm braced against the dirt. Yuuri tentatively touched the side of his head, and his fingers came away red and brown.

Oh. That blood was his.

Upon seeing that he could move, Victor reached for him immediately. His fingers brushed through Yuuri’s hair; skimmed around the edges of something painful and wet as he cupped his hand under Yuuri’s cheek, lifted Yuuri’s face into the cradle of his palms.

Victor’s crouched posture pitched forward. His knees hit the ground as he doubled over and pressed his forehead to Yuuri’s with his eyes closed, silent.

“I’m okay,” Yuuri murmured. His hand shook as he lifted it to Victor’s face, traced the backs of his knuckles over the curve of his cheekbone, his jawline. The silver of his name ( _Fated,_ he was _Fated,_ they were _Fated_ ) was the very same silver of Victor’s hair. The thought was comforting, even though everything felt fuzzy. He wasn’t actually sure if he was okay at all. “I’m alright. Can you help me stand?”

Victor nodded. His hands fell away from Yuuri’s face, slid under his arms and hauled him up with shocking strength. Yuuri wavered on his feet once he was vertical; the head rush was terrifically dizzying.

He squinted. His vision was blurred. With marked reluctance, he noted one particular flash of memory from before everything had gone black. “My glasses are toast, huh?”

Victor held them out with a flicker of a wry smile; one lens cracked, the other irreparably scratched.

“Ah, damn,” Yuuri said softly, resigned, and took them in one hand and tucked them back into his pocket. His other was slung over Victor’s shoulders as he was supported, as Victor helped him walk. “I just got new lenses, too. And I liked these frames.”

“I’ll buy you new lenses,” Victor promised. “The frames might be salvageable.”

Yuuri glanced down, took in the vague blur of stains; blood and dirt and grass marring the perfect canvas of white and red. “And your jacket.”

Victor huffed. His arm tightened around Yuuri’s waist; his thumb rubbed a comforting path over his aching ribs. “That’s salvageable, too. Don’t worry about it now.”

True. They _did_ have more important things to worry about.

Yuuri squinted as they drew nearer to JJ and Bella, and felt a pang of cold through his belly. JJ looked more than a little worse for wear—hair mussed, scraped and bruised, clothing singed and punctured. Jeans torn around his knees, with smudges of blood showing through.

He held Bella’s head in his lap, stroking one hand through her hair. When he saw Yuuri and Victor approach, he curled around her protectively. She was still bound by her restraints, both arms and legs, though her face was still free. Her face turned against his thigh, her eyes red-rimmed and stinging; not nearly as furious as Mila had been, but just as prideful. She winced at the sound of their footsteps, hands curling into blood-starved fists with white knuckles.

The sight of it hurt.

This wasn’t what Yuuri wanted.

This wasn’t how he wanted to win.

“So?” JJ demanded. “Are you going to finish us or what?”

“No.”

He felt the ripple of Victor’s surprise, his alarm. Yuuri soothed him with his hand rested across the nape of Victor’s neck, woven under the tangle of his hair.

JJ stared up at him, uncomprehending— _angry_. “Then what? Your _crazy_ goddamn Fighter just beat the shit out of us. _Look_ at what he did to her!”

Yuuri did look. He met Bella’s eyes and saw her exhaustion, her pain, her blood smeared across the pale skin of her neck and collarbones. It was odd—JJ had made himself the mouthpiece of their unit; it was so easy to forget that it was Bella who was really in charge.

Bella was a good Sacrifice. Her love for her Fighter was clear.

Yuuri didn’t want to hurt her. Not if he didn’t have to.

“I see it,” he replied. His mouth was almost unbearably dry; his head pounded. It was likely he had a concussion. “So cede the match.”

JJ’s lip curled. “You want me to _forfeit?”_

Victor snapped, “You wouldn’t be in this situation if you quit when you hit Yuuri instead of me!”

 _“Vitya.”_ Both Victor and JJ fell silent. Three pairs of blue eyes rested heavily on Yuuri. He wasn’t steady enough to carry the weight for much longer.

“So, what?” JJ asked. He glanced down; his finger traced the shape of Bella’s shared name across the curve of her throat. “You want me to quit so you can get your laughs, _Fated?”_

Yuuri huffed, irritated. “No. I want you to quit because I don’t want to hurt you anymore. If you force me to, I will—but look at your Sacrifice.” He frowned deeply. “She takes your damage, right? And neither of us can take much more. We both know you’re beaten. She doesn’t deserve more pain for the sake of your pride.”

JJ looked stricken. He stared up at Yuuri, then down at Bella.

Yuuri blinked slowly. It was the first time he was close enough to notice that JJ and Bella wore matching rings. Yuuri swallowed and leaned into Victor’s side. Just for a moment, his eyes fluttered closed. “In sickness and in health, right?”

Bella shuddered out a sigh. “My parents aren’t like us. I—I wanted them to know what Jean means to me. So we—”

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Yuuri said with a faint smile. “I get it. My parents aren’t like me either. Just my sister. I didn’t know anything about _any_ of this until a little while ago.”

JJ touched Bella’s cheek. He looked up at Yuuri. “You fought like you knew what you were doing.”

“Not even a little.” Yuuri laughed once, sharp and pained. “Look. I would really… really like to go and lay down. I want Vitya off his leg. Forfeit peacefully. You can patch yourselves up, and we’ll answer your questions. You’ve got it wrong. This has _all_ been a misunderstanding.”

JJ’s eyes narrowed. Bella’s lashes fluttered and drooped. “That sounds fair, _Fated.”_

Victor’s arm tightened around him. Yuuri tipped his head sideways, skull screaming, and rested against the curve of Victor’s shoulder. “My name’s Katsuki Yuuri.”

JJ exhaled all at once. “Katsuki? Damn it.”

Yuuri nodded. “My sister Mari is the Sacrifice for _Relentless._ I am the Sacrifice for _Fated.”_

The whisper of Victor’s wonder flitted across his mind. Yuuri tilted his chin up to look at him and was offered a smile in return, a nuzzle against his uninjured temple. It centered him, even though the pain and nausea was making itself known and unavoidable.

“Cede the match,” Yuuri urged them softly. “We’ll make sure you’re treated fairly.”

With a weary sigh, Bella relaxed. “Yes. We relent.”

The restraints shattered, broke into pieces of light and faded away as though they’d never been. Bella gasped as the blood rushed to return to her hands; Yuuri could relate. The lingering prickling sensation was far from pleasant.

The glowing boundaries around the courtyard disappeared. With them, the fear and reluctance of the spectators, too, vanished. Yuuri quickly found himself mobbed by his well-meaning self-made family; his grip on Victor’s pain slipped, and though he folded with some measure of relief, Victor buckled and hissed under the cruelties of sensation.

Luckily, others were there to keep them steady.

“You _stupid_ boy,” Minako said emphatically, and kissed the crown of Yuuri’s head as she took the brunt of Yuuri’s weight. Yuri and Otabek mobbed Victor, each ducking under one arm to hold him up despite his half-assed protests.

“Yuuri, that was ridiculous,” Phichit said, but only managed to sound amazed. Seung-Gil beside him looked faintly stunned and nodded in silent agreement.

“Hey,” Yuuri said weakly, and hooked one finger into the cuff of Phichit’s sleeve. He nodded toward _Exalted._ “Help them. They’re hurt.”

“Yeah, no _shit,_ dude,” he replied, and looked at Yuuri like he was truly insane. Yuuri wasn’t sure what emotion his stare conveyed in return, but Phichit threw his hands up and went, “Fine, alright, alright. I’ll help carry the intruders, N-B-D. Carry this person, Phichit. Carry _that_ person, Phichit. It’s not even Arm Day, Yuuri. You owe me like a thousand study sessions.”

Yuuri’s laughter surprised him; god, his ribs ached. He must have bashed them in his fall. “I’ll love you forever,” he wheedled through the buzzing in his head.

“Yeah, buddy, I love you too.” Phichit sighed and reached over to carefully, _carefully_ ruffle Yuuri’s hair. He shot Minako a wry glance and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “You did good. That was badass.”

“Phichit, do _not_ encourage him,” Minako scolded. She hauled Yuuri away before anyone could protest, and Mari was quick to fall in at her side.

“Little bro, you stupid fucking idiot.”

“Yeah, Mari, I get it,” Yuuri groaned. His vision was warping; his legs were starting to give out.

Mari slapped him on the back. It hurt. Minako immediately made a surprised, outraged sound at her bondmate.

“True Katsuki style,” Mari said with a hint of admiration. “We still have to train you—and have a conversation about the fact that you found and hid and _bonded_ with Victor _fucking_ Nikiforov.”

“Mari, it can _wait,_ ” Minako complained. “Your brother is _concussed._ So _stop jostling him._ ”

“M’not—” Yuuri didn’t know why he bothered. He’d been concussed before from bad falls on the ice, he knew what it felt like. _This_ was what it felt like. Everything was sluggish, heavy, like a weight sitting on his brain. Shifted slightly to the side, his vision not quite clear. The absence of his glasses didn’t help.

“C’mon, kiddo,” Minako said with a sigh. “Let’s get you cleaned up and someplace quiet.”

Honestly? That sounded pretty damn good to Yuuri.

He held it together through the blur of being hauled out of the courtyard, of Mari chasing off the students with the promise for a strict scolding later, and being brought _back_ to that damn infirmary. Minako patched up his wounds; Victor sat beside him on the bed. They were both exhausted, leaning into each other, Yuuri’s eyes half-lidded as someone else cleaned away the blood from the gash along his hairline.

JJ and Bella were brought to another room with another bed. Yuuri hadn’t even known there _was_ another room, though he figured he should have guessed. One infirmary bed for a whole school didn’t seem very sensible, after all.

Nothing really seemed sensible. All he wanted to do was sleep.

Yuuri tucked his face into the curve of Victor’s neck; Victor’s arm was wrapped around his shoulders, and both of them were listing to the side. “Can I lay down yet?” Yuuri complained quietly.

Mari huffed. “You should shower or _something._ You’re gross, Yuuri.”

“I don’t care,” Yuuri muttered, at the very same time that Victor, too, grumbled, “I don’t care.”

She made a quiet noise of disgust. “Boys.”

And Minako replied, “They really don’t seem like they’re in much of a state for that, anyway. We don’t want him cracking his head open a second time.”

Victor made an aggravated noise and pulled Yuuri closer. “Don’t joke.”

“Not joking.” She placed a second pillow on the cot with one hand. With the other, she gave Victor a bottle of water and a precariously-balanced single-pack of pills. “Here. Hydration and painkillers.”

“Thanks.”

Yuuri wrapped his arms around Victor’s waist in silent protest of being jostled. He was clingy. He knew he was being clingy, but not enough to care.

“Thank you,” Victor repeated, more quietly this time—sincere. “I am sorry for the trouble I’ve caused.”

“Yeah, well,” Minako huffed, and Yuuri heard her footsteps as she busied herself around the room. “You couldn’t have known. Lilia couldn’t have known. All of this is one big damn mess because Seimei coded in a booby trap for the best coder in the Academies. As soon as she logged in, it was all over. All it took was a little foreknowledge and a push for everything to come crashing down.”

Yuuri nosed closer into Victor’s warmth, listened to the timbre of his heartbeat, the pattern of his breathing, the cadence of his thoughts. It was comforting. Familiar. Victor cradled the back of his head in one hand, gentle as could be. Yuuri purred softly against his throat.

Mari sighed. He knew that sound so well. “He used to talk about you all the time,” she said. “Your skating. A serious case of hero worship. When you showed up, he knew you immediately. I should have known right then and there; I let myself think it was because he was a fan. Never thought maybe he was a fan because part of him _knew._ He saw you on a television screen when he was ten years old, skating a few thousand miles away. All he wanted was to stand right next to you on the ice. He’d always been a skater, but I never saw him buckle down and give a damn until he learned your name.”

The flicker of feeling across Victor’s mind was wounded; raw. Yuuri’s purr escalated unintentionally, and he drew Victor closer, rubbed his lips over Victor’s carotid.

“Maybe I’d have met him sooner if none of this had happened,” Victor said, and twined his fingers into Yuuri’s hair. There was the sound of plastic being set down, and then Victor’s other arm was around him, too. And then, softer, “I wish I had.”

“I know Yuuri,” Minako said, her voice somewhere close to Mari. “He never does anything he doesn’t want to do. Sure, he admired you. But there’s no doubt in my mind that he chose this. Fate, whatever. Fate’s a choice. Love’s a choice. Yuuri had every reason in the world to choose something else and he chose you.”

Doubt. “If we’re really _Fated,_ he had to.”

“Bullshit, he had to,” Mari retorted. “ _Had to_ would have been running across the ice the night he met you. _Had to_ wouldn’t involve him sleuthing out all this bullshit with _Beloved_ and trying to pull the Academies back together. _Had to_ wouldn’t have spared _Exalted._ Yuuri has a strong mind, a clear head—when he’s not clocked six ways from Sunday. Whatever was keeping you apart, whether it was the half-bond you had with that little blonde _Yurio_ or your own self-doubt, it’s over and done now. He _chose_ you. So that’s that.”

Victor was quiet for a moment. And then, choked with humor, he said one word only. _“Yurio.”_

“There’s no room for two people named Yuuri in my heart, sue me,” Mari said with a haughty sniff. “Anyway. Like I said. That’s that. We’ll let you get some rest and come back to wake you up in an hour and to check and make sure he’s not braindead. You’re our first line of defense, though—since apparently you can, like. Read each others’ minds or something. Weirdos.”

Minako must have grabbed her, because there was a shuffle of footsteps and a quiet, familiar squabble before Minako cut in. “Alright, whatever. Sleep! Drink your water! Don’t push each other off the bed, I’m not patching you up twice.”

The light in the room shifted—they must have turned off the overheads, Yuuri figured. He slumped bodily into Victor until he sighed and reared back to drop them both against the bed. Yuuri tucked himself close to Victor’s side and gingerly avoided his injured head. He lifted one leg _ever so carefully_ over the top of Victor’s, one arm around his waist, and tangled their bodies together.

Victor’s breath was warm against his aching scalp. One hand pressed against Yuuri’s aching lower back.

It didn’t matter that they were crammed on a cheap, narrow mattress in a place that smelled like antiseptic and rubbing alcohol. They were together. It felt like home.

“You took good care of him,” Mari said softly. “I’m not gonna forget that. Everything else… well. Whatever. We’ll work it out. It matters to me—to us—that you love him. So, welcome to the family.”

The door to the room clicked closed.

Victor sighed. The flutter against Yuuri’s mind felt dazed. “You still awake?”

“Mm,” Yuuri murmured. He didn’t open his eyes. “Mmhm.”

“Liar,” Victor replied fondly. He kissed the top of Yuuri’s head. _I’m sorry I left this morning. It was a stupid thing to do._

 _I know why you did it._ Yuuri ducked his head and pressed a kiss against the crest of Victor’s shoulder, then nuzzled back into place. _It was still a stupid thing to do, yeah._

_I meant what I said, you know._

“Mm?” Yuuri mumbled, indistinct.

Victor’s huff of laughter ruffled his hair. _I’ll buy you new glasses. But you have to let me buy you contacts, too._

_If we get challenged, I don’t think anyone’s gonna wait for me to put my lenses in._

_Never hurts to be prepared._

They lapsed into quiet contentment for a stretch of time. Yuuri was near sleep when a thought struck him, warbling and indistinct, refusing to be quieted. Of course, that might’ve been the head wound.

_I did make a choice, you know. I chose this. You. I wouldn’t change it. I’m only getting into what I can live with. For me, that’s you. As long as we’re together, everything’s gonna be okay._

Victor took a breath and let it out slowly. He reached out blindly with one hand and dragged the thin blanket over them both, creating a pocket of pleasant heat that redoubled Yuuri’s quiet purr.

Warmth. Love. Together. _Fated._

Victor murmured, “I know.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog this thing](https://maydei.tumblr.com/post/170672914332/title-fated-pairing-victuuri-victor) | [h...hewwo? owo MAYDEI???](http://maydei.tumblr.com/ask)


	21. Endless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All things must end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, holy fuck. I just pulled the mother of all all-nighters. Why did I do that? Why am I like this? Oh my god. That being said, finishing this chapter led me to having a minor breakdown. Why, you ask? Because this is pretty much it. This is... basically the end. There's an epilogue for next week, but other than that... this fic is like. Done. Done??? DONE?? I still??? CANNOT BE L I E V E
> 
> Thank you, first of all, to [Rae](http://extranikiforov.tumblr.com). Without her this fic would not exist, full stop. Thank you to [Farasha](http://farashasilver.tumblr.com/), who prompted me for a gift exchange and got _so_ much more than she bargained for. Thank you to [Robbie](http://thehobbem.tumblr.com), whose comments both on and off AO3 honestly kept me going, and who noticed basically every detail I put in. Seriously, how? And a huge shoutout to all the lads who witnessed my suffering and helped me through it. Writing is hell, y'all. Authors know it well.
> 
> A super special thank you to [too-squirrel-for-quirrel](https://too-squirrel-for-quirrel.tumblr.com/) for the [great drawing of Yuuri and Victor on the beach](https://maydei.tumblr.com/post/170674954157/too-squirrel-for-quirrel-said-wip-of-victor)! Thank you so much!!! :D 
> 
> ALSO: PLEASE CHECK OUT THE UPCOMING [YOI SOULMATE ZINE](https://yoisoulmatezine.tumblr.com/)!!! It... was somehow... partially inspired.... by this fic?? which??? what??? the heck??? [Morgaine](https://morgaine32.tumblr.com/) drew [this fucking fabulous art](https://morgaine32.tumblr.com/post/170862859601/im-so-happy-i-can-finally-post-this-omg-this-is) that blew my mind and may or may not be my current desktop image on my laptop. Praise be, Morg. How the hell.
> 
> So here we go, for not _quite_ the last time. Thank you all for taking this journey with me.
> 
>  

 

 

Waking up to Victor’s hands gently running his hair was a joy, even through the haze and throbbing pain of Yuuri’s headache. It was, however, short-lived—from the moment he regained consciousness, the world regained motion. Sluggish and sleepy, he struggled to keep up with the flurry of activity around him.

Minako unearthed a pair of his old glasses— _you forgot them in my car after I took you to the optometrist to pick out your new ones; I know your prescription is a little different, but it’s better than nothing. Wear them—_ and Yuuri reluctantly obeyed. He didn’t want to admit that they helped; not when the thick, clunky black frames made him self-conscious and transported him back to feeling like an awkward undergrad.

Naturally, Victor loved them. It was, at least, enough to keep them on Yuuri’s face.

And then came the wheelchair.

“No,” Yuuri protested vehemently, even as his vision swam from the toil of sitting upright. “I can walk.”

Minako stared him down. “I don’t like that you’re going at all. So if you don’t sit your butt in that chair, you won’t be able to walk for much longer. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Victor’s way more hurt,” Yuuri muttered, deeply unhappy, as he slid from the mattress into the seat waiting beside it.

Mari appeared in the doorway as though summoned. “Oh don’t worry,” she said, and wiggled the crutches in each hand. “He’s getting these.”

Victor made a face. “I don’t need those.”

“You’re getting them,” Mari said, and pushed them into his arms. “You can carry them or you can use them, I don’t care which. I’d advise using them, though.”

Victor turned a put-upon look to Yuuri, the stirrings of exasperation in his mind as he levered the crutches under his arms. “Is it always like this?”

“Always,” Yuuri answered. He listed over the side of the chair and pressed his forehead against Victor’s arm. Victor leaned heavily against the supports, let Yuuri’s face linger and moved carefully to trail his fingers across the side of Yuuri’s throat.

“Okay,” said Minako. “Let’s get a move on. I want those bratty Canucks out of my school as soon as possible.”

Victor snickered. The joke drifted over Yuuri’s head, but he found he didn’t mind. Mari circled the chair and pat the top of Yuuri’s head, ruffled his hair and pushed him onward. Something in Yuuri’s chest clenched at the sound of the crutches, even though the brush of Victor’s mind against his was unperturbed.

JJ and Bella leaned against each other just outside the door. They took in Yuuri, his slump in the wheelchair, the bruises Yuuri felt blooming on his own face. They glanced at Victor, a damn mess holding himself up on metal braces.

Bella made a sound of regret. JJ just said, “Wow, you look like shit.”

Victor’s huff was derisive, but too tired to be effective. Yuuri reached over to touch his hand, despite knowing Victor was relying too much on the crutches to reach back for him. “This is my second high-stakes fight in twelve hours, and only one of those was with Yuuri beside me. Kindly shut up.”

Minako snorted quietly. “Your luck—”

“It wasn’t luck,” Yuuri interrupted. His mind was reeling; the movement was making him nauseous, but he refused to give in and prove anyone right. “It wasn’t.”

Victor was thankful and affectionate as he brushed against Yuuri’s thoughts.

Blessedly, no one decided to argue. Yuuri wasn’t sure he was up for the fight anyway. He’d had quite enough fighting for one day—had quite enough of being upright entirely, to be honest. But he couldn’t bear the thought of letting Victor leave him behind, or spending one more minute in that infirmary room. Where Victor would go, Yuuri would go. He could handle that much.

 _You should have let yourself rest,_ Victor chastised silently. He cast Yuuri a concerned glance. _You look exhausted, любимый._

“Don’t tell me how I look.” Yuuri’s retort lost some of its effectiveness when his voice slurred and his head lolled back against the chair. He hadn’t even realized he’d spoken aloud, until—

“Huh?” Mari asked.

Minako shot a look over her shoulder. “Hey. None of that. Yuuri’s on strict cognitive rest. Nothing strenuous for his brain. That means your mind-meld, too.”

“Mind-meld?” JJ frowned, turning to walk backward as he stared between Yuuri and Victor. “What, like your proxim sense?”

“No,” Victor answered, uncharacteristically curt. He looked worried. “Can it hurt him?”

“Additional stress to the mind in a concussion state can exacerbate symptoms.” Mari sighed. “That means no reading, no schoolwork, nothing. He really _should_ be in bed.”

Victor made an unhappy sound, and withdrew entirely from Yuuri’s mind. His sudden absence felt like an open wound, achingly unnatural. It reminded Yuuri of being five years old, waist-height, prodding at the gummy space left by a baby tooth—strange to experience the loss of something so thoroughly known; impossible to ignore.

Yuuri pawed at the barrier, but couldn’t find the energy to scratch. It was not the impenetrable wall that it had been before—more like a veil, and he could still almost see Victor on the other side. Yuuri wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. “Vitya. No.”

“I won’t risk your health,” Victor sighed. He stopped; Mari pulled to a halt, and Yuuri with her. Yuuri stared up at Victor as he reached for Yuuri’s cheek. “It’s just for a while, Yuuri.”

Yuuri turned his face away; tried and failed to pretend the separation wasn’t deeply unsettling, that it didn’t hurt. Despite that, Victor touched him anyway; brushed his knuckles along Yuuri’s jaw and the curve of his cheekbone. There was a flicker of apology, but no concession. Victor was too stubborn to give in.

“Alright,” Victor said softly. “Let’s keep going. The sooner we’re done, the sooner we can go home.”

They met Lilia in the server room, finding her already plugged in at an access monitor. She was scowling at whatever she was looking at—a black screen with rapidly scrolling white text. She entered input commands with no response, then started again.

Victor made himself a place at her side with no hesitation. “It keeps kicking back failures?”

“Incessantly,” Lilia replied. “And when I change decryption tactics and try something else, I get a new one. It’s a process. We’re running off an interim server that I built for the school’s functions, but I’ve been rebuilding this one from the ground up without the base files. I’m having to go through and decrypt it all one by one.”

Isabella whistled under her breath, leaving JJ behind as she stepped up to the monitor. “That’s thousands of files.”

“Hundreds of thousands,” Lilia answered with a grim expression. “Seimei was a genius of computer engineering and cryptography. Sometimes I think those of us who learned coding as it developed are at a disadvantage to those of you who were born into this world.”

“The restriction is confined to this set of servers?”

“Yes. We immediately triggered a manual shutdown and checked each device for corruption until we’d isolated it. But there’s no discernible pattern to his encryptions. I would have seen some sign of it by now.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “It seems he implemented a truly random passcode structure with a 256-bit key. You can understand my frustration.”

“And there’s no leads on the context of the key?” Victor asked. He readjusted on the crutches and leaned forward.

“I’ve checked everything. I’ve been left with the assumption that there may be no pattern at all. Just a string of 256 pieces, and I have nowhere to start to determine what they are, or what order they do in.”

A complicated look passed over his face. “But if it’s an AES system, that means someone has to have the cipher.”

Lilia shot Victor a quelling glance. “To what end? Seimei trusted no one.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t exactly work alone, did he?” Victor reached out for the keyboard; Lilia sighed and leaned back to give him room. “He meant this for the eyes of one person. We have to assume it was someone close to him, that he would have left the key to. Which means it has to have some sort of shared element between him and his contact—”

“That’s not necessarily true—” Bella argued.

Text started flying across the screen faster than Yuuri could process. All at once, he was almost _thankful_ that Victor had shut him out. His experience with computers was only based around his schooling and building lesson plans, all things he’d learned in high school and very little else.

Even _listening_ to this was making him exhausted.

He hated to admit it, but maybe Minako was right.

JJ looked to Yuuri and grimaced. He shrugged. “Bella’s the tech whiz. This isn’t my thing.”

“Mine either,” Yuuri admitted.

“Hey, we’re not all baby geniuses,” Mari drawled, leaning heavily against the back of Yuuri’s wheelchair. Yuuri tipped his head back and she shot him a smile. “I never got into this, either. I only know as much as I need to enter the kids’ medical records into the system. The first time Minako mentioned kernels I thought she was talking about popcorn. That’s all I’ve got.”

“I’m not gonna be very much help here,” Yuuri said softly, “am I?”

“Probably not.” Mari laid a hand atop his head. “I can take you back to the infirmary to lie down.”

Yuuri scowled. “No. I’d rather find Yura and Phichit and sit with them.”

“—we have to approach this from a different angle.” Bella said. She tilted her head to the side and stared at the screen. And then she took a breath. She looked at Victor, and then at Lilia. “You really don’t have it.”

Lilia’s expression was pinched. “No. I never have. What was regarded as my attack against the system was my attempt to save it. We shut down the network to protect the intranet. I can’t re-implement the system until it’s secure and decrypted.”

Victor sighed deeply. “We have to tell Yakov.”

Lilia’s lips twisted into a frown. “You may tell him what you wish.”

Victor swallowed. He looked to Lilia, and then to Bella.

His phone was in his hand.

Yuuri felt the flicker of his fear against the barrier between their minds. Denying the sense of his own anger, he took hold of the wheelchair and rolled himself forward. He placed himself at Victor’s side to reach for his other hand. Their eyes met, Victor’s a sea of conflicted blue. He pulled away.

Then he readjusted, stood of his own volition and held both crutches in one hand, his phone clutched in the other. Slowly, he sank to his knees and lay the supports against the floor.

Yuuri ignored the murmurs of surprise and concern. His only concern was Victor’s head in his lap, the tactile comfort Victor craved even as his knuckles went white. He placed his phone screen-down against Yuuri’s thigh, turned his face away from it like he could forget it existed at all.

Nothing existed except for them in that moment.

“I’m not ready,” Victor murmured. “Command me not to do this.”

Yuuri’s hands settled in Victor’s hair. His fingers twined together around the back of his head, laced like a crown. “Can’t,” Yuuri answered softly. His thumbs rubbed careful circles against Victor’s scalp. “It’s time. We both know that.”

Victor didn’t say anything. His breath shivered out of him in something not quite a sigh.

Everyone was waiting. Yuuri paid them no mind.

“You shouldn’t be kneeling,” Yuuri said. “You’re on those crutches for a reason.”

That, at least, drew an irritated sound from Victor, though he did not lift his head from the warmth of Yuuri’s legs. “And you should be in bed.”

The moment stretched.

“Victor?”

Victor said nothing.

“I want you to call Yakov.”

“Is that an order?”

“Yes.”

Victor turned his face; his bangs fell away from his eyes. He looked at the phone. Then he looked up at Yuuri. He sounded antsy, anxious when he asked, “Can I call him without you in the room?”

Yuuri didn’t take it personally. He knew how unsettled Victor must be. “If that’s what you want, then yeah. But I’ll also stay if you want me to.”

Victor bit his lip; he shook his head slightly. He lifted the phone as though there were great weight to it, more than just the psychological pall. He propped his chin on Yuuri’s knee.

The split in his lip was red, raw. Yuuri brushed his thumb across it so very gently. “Do you want me to get Yura?”

Victor shook his head again. He unlocked his phone. “No. I’m just going to get yelled at. He doesn’t need to hear it, too. None of this was his fault.”

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” Yuuri reminded him. “Not yours either.”

“It was Seimei’s fault,” Mari pitched in, finally breaking their bubble of silence. “Bastard’s dead and we’re still picking up his mess fifteen years later.”

Yuuri leaned down, fighting his own dizziness; Victor tipped his head up to receive the barest whisper of a kiss he was offered. “It’s the beginning of the end,” Yuuri said. His head churned. “It’ll be okay, you’ll see.”

Victor nodded. He struggled to his feet, though Mari was surprisingly quick to help him up and get him situated. When the crutches were under his arms again, when he seemed a bit steadier and his phone was in his palm, he nodded. Yuuri would see the shadow of the soldier Yakov had made of him filling in around the edges. “I’ll ask you to stay, Jean Jacques; Isabella. He’ll want to speak with you. Minako, you’re welcome to stay. Mari, I’d naturally extend the invitation to you, but I’m guessing you’ll want Yuuri to be under your supervision.”

“You’d be right,” Mari answered. She rounded the back of Yuuri’s wheelchair. “We won’t be far.”

Yuuri swallowed. He looked up at Victor, his resigned reluctance. “If you need me—”

“I’ll call you,” Victor said with a firm nod. “Of course, Yuuri.”

Yuuri nodded back. “Okay.” And then, with a deep sigh and a lingering glance, he tipped his head back to look at his sister. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s go.”

The last thing he heard as Mari wheeled him back and out of the room was the hum of the servers, the nervous shudder of Lilia’s breath, the ringing of the speakerphone, Victor’s quiet, “Алло?”

And then the yelling.

The sound haunted him all the way out.

 

* * *

 

Mari brought him to the courtyard to sit in the sun; the afternoon had warmed the earth, and many students lingered outside to enjoy the last of the warm days. Autumn could give way to winter at any time. Part of Yuuri already felt cold.

They found Yuri and Otabek sitting at a picnic table, sharing in each others’ company. Phichit and Seung-Gil seemed to be debating the finer points of Otabek’s music playlists. Phichit did not hesitate to whip his own phone out of his pocket and offer suggestions of his own. Perhaps most surprisingly of all, Seung-Gil had strong opinions about pop groups. As Yuuri and Mari drew closer, he heard the familiar sound of a K-pop tune that Phichit favored; Yuri seemed reluctantly enthralled by the catchy beat and bobbed his head in time.

“Ah, Yuuri!” Phichit called with a grin, and threw his arm up in greeting. “You look awful! Come sit with us.”

Yuuri knew Phichit was being generous. He undoubtedly looked like death only slightly warmed-over.

Yuri’s ears perked. He frowned. “Where’s Victor?”

“Getting chewed out by Yakov,” Mari answered, and rolled Yuuri up to the end of the table. She sat at the place beside him.

Yuri went pale. He jammed the pause button on Seung-Gil’s screen, and the cheerful sounds cut out. “He called Yakov?”

Yuuri nodded; the motion made him nauseous. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. “They’re talking now.”

Yuri grimaced. He shared a look with Otabek, then looked back to Yuuri. “You mean he’s getting yelled at within an inch of his life.”

“Yeah.”

Phichit looked sympathetic. “That sucks. It wasn’t really his fault.”

“Yakov won’t see it that way,” Yuri replied. He placed his elbows on the table and rested his chin in one palm. “He’ll just see that Victor disobeyed his orders. When he finds out about Katsuki, he’s gonna go ballistic.”

Yuuri startled. He hadn’t even thought about it.

“And he’s gonna want to take control of everything all over again, and, well, needless to say it’s not gonna be good.” Yuri frowned and turned, swung one leg over the bench so he straddled it, and leaned back against Otabek’s solid weight; he lifted Otabek’s arm over his shoulder and across his chest, casual as you please. His ears twitched. Behind him, Otabek’s lips curled into a fond smile.

But Yuri’s eyes weren’t pleased. They were wide; nervous.

It unsettled Yuuri.

“Well,” Mari said reasonably, “there’s not much he can do. Sure, Victor disobeyed some orders, but he got what Feltsman was looking for, didn’t he? Answers. Solid leads on the matching data. Contact with his Sacrifice again. And Victor’s bonded now, too.”

Yuri grimaced.

Phichit slid off the tabletop and down onto the bench opposite them. He and Seung-Gil sat hip to hip. “Yeah, but outside all the Fighter and Sacrifice stuff, there’s still international law to follow. You can’t just stay as long as you want in a foreign country without telling your government and getting permission. There’s no protection for soulmates.”

Seung-Gil reached for Phichit’s hand under the table. Yuuri saw it, and the flicker of his friend’s smile. Instinctively, his mind reached out to touch that veil; he found it becoming thick and heavy, opaque. Victor was doing his damndest to sweep his emotions behind it.

“We’ll figure it out,” Yuuri mumbled. He leaned back heavily against the chair. The sun hurt his eyes.

Phichit reached over and lay his hand on Yuuri’s arm. “Hey. You look exhausted. Shouldn’t you be sleeping or something?”

“Yes,” Mari cut in. “He should. But he’s being stubborn.”

Phichit snorted softly. “Who, Yuuri? That doesn’t sound like him.” He leaned back, assessing. Then he held out his hand. “Give me your phone. I’ll write the professor and tell him you passed out with the flu and hit your head. There’s _hell_ no way I’m letting you try to teach a class when you can’t keep your eyes open.”

Yuuri hadn’t even realized his eyes were falling shut. He groaned quietly, embarrassed. “I don’t like lying.”

Mari made a disbelieving sound. Phichit grinned. “Necessary evil. It’ll explain the bruises on your face—we can’t have our classmates thinking I beat you. What would the professor say when he sees my flawless grades? Coercion, that’s what. Hand it over.”

Yuuri was helpless to resist; he handed over his phone, and Phichit started tapping away. Seung-Gil observed over his shoulder. “You made a typo there.”

“Good, he’s supposed to be brain damaged,” Phichit replied.

Yuri squinted at them all. “Your friends are _weird._ ”

Yuuri laughed; just a little, but enough for his ribs to hurt. He closed his eyes against the sun and leaned his head back. Phichit could keep custody of his phone. The only person Yuuri was worried about didn’t need it to contact him.

He might have dozed a little; the sound of the chatter around him blurred into the sounds of the other students, the sound of the wind catching the leaves and pulling them free, fluttering through the air and down to the ground. Everything still sounded different than he was used to without his secondary ears. His scalp itched and ached. Yuuri couldn’t be sure how much of that should be attributed to the concussion.

The next thing he was aware of was a touch on his cheek—cold, gentle fingers, a retreating press of lips. Yuuri cracked his eyes open to see Victor sitting down beside him, across from Mari. Yuuri glanced up; JJ and Isabella lingered in the doorway to the building, and they looked far from happy.

Victor didn’t meet Yuuri’s eyes or say anything at all. Even when Yuuri blinked himself awake and reached for his hand, Victor curled them together, but didn’t squeeze back.

They watched him expectantly.

Victor let out a slow, shuddery breath. He kept his eyes on the decaying planks of the picnic table, weathered by years of use. “We’re going home.”

Yuuri went cold.

“Yakov bought tickets,” he continued. “So. It’s decided.”

Yuri’s face went pale. His ears flattened to his skull, and he clutched at Otabek’s arm, which tightened around him. “What? When?”

Victor swallowed.

“Victor,” Yuri demanded. His voice shook. “ _When?”_

Victor raised his eyes, panicked green meeting aching blue. Slowly, reluctantly, they slid over Mari’s surprised expression and settled on Yuuri. The veil between their minds fluttered; through it, Yuuri caught sight of true, defeated despair, one word screaming through his thoughts on repeat.

Yuuri closed his eyes.

Victor said, “Tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

Despite the fact that they both _knew_ they were on borrowed time, Yuuri and Victor both slept through the car ride home. They were exhausted, overwrought, overworked. They’d had barely any sleep, Victor especially. And once they arrived back at the onsen, bleary-eyed and beat to hell, it was evening. They skittered through the halls with heads ducked, avoiding notice as they retreated to Yuuri’s room.

Yuri, as agreed, managed to sneak dinner up to them. His eyes were still red-rimmed when handed over a particularly laden tray of food—shortly after Victor’s bombshell announcement, he’d called Yakov on his own cell and shouted at _him_ in the middle of the courtyard for all to hear. Yakov, naturally, had not been deterred. Though he had been more than a little miffed at his student’s bad attitude and admittedly creative pantheon of curses.

They sent him off with the instruction to get some sleep—Yakov, it seemed, had not wanted to wait any longer than necessary for Victor and Yuri’s return. Their flight would be first thing in the morning. Minako had already agreed to pick them all up—Otabek and Yuuri included—and shepherd them to the airport.

Yuuri couldn’t believe they already had to say goodbye.

He wasn’t sure why he’d thought that getting their name would mean overcoming all of this. Fate or not, one could not sidestep the fact that Victor and Yuri had brought only one bag between them. That Victor didn’t have an appropriate visa. That he had a life back in St. Petersburg.

Yuuri put his bowl back on the floor.

They’d spread everything out beside Yuuri’s bed, leaning against the side of the mattress as they ate what they could manage. Right now, Yuuri only felt nauseous in a way that had nothing to do with his concussion.

“What are we going to do?” Yuuri leaned his head back and closed his eyes; the tops of his ears ached from the unfamiliar frames of his glasses. It was one of many reasons that he’d opted for his more streamlined pair of blue frames. Those now sat atop his desk, scratched to hell, lenses destroyed.

God. So many things for his parents to yell at him about, if only they were the yelling sort. Yuuri would just end up feeling guilty instead. Maybe Mari and Minako had not been so far off when they’d accused him of becoming a different person.

Victor, too, placed his food down. It seemed the anxiousness they shared had killed their appetite. There was still a separation between them, now just a curtain of lace. It allowed everything but direct communication, divorced them from sharing the same mindscape for the sake of stress on Yuuri’s brain.

Yuuri hated it. But it was necessary.

“Well,” Victor said softly, “I’ll go home. And I’ll take care of everything there that I can take care of. And as soon as we can, we’ll find a way to be together again.”

Yuuri opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. “That doesn’t sound like much of a plan.”

Victor reached between them. He took Yuuri’s hand in his own and squeezed. “How does _I’ll be back as soon as I can_ sound, then?”

“Better,” Yuuri admitted. “But it still means you have to leave.”

Victor laughed once, sharp and unsatisfied. “Yeah. That part is unavoidable, I think.”

Yuuri leaned over until his head rested on Victor’s shoulder. He nosed against the curve of Victor’s neck and made a quiet sound of anticipatory longing when Victor’s arm slipped around his waist. He was already counting the days that this would not be available to him—that Victor would be absent, his devotion far out of range of Yuuri’s desperate need.

The worst part of loving Victor was this—realizing how inexorably unhappy he would be once Victor was gone.

“I’ve gotten so used to having you here,” Yuuri murmured. “I could barely sleep without you for two days. What are we gonna do for… for as long as this takes?”

“I’ll call you every day,” Victor said. He pressed his lips to the top of Yuuri’s head and let them linger there. “And you can call me whenever you want.”

Yuuri felt his eyes burning. He sniffled. “There’s always Facetime, I guess.”

Victor nuzzled him incessantly; he reached over to grab Yuuri’s bowl and move it far out of the way, and then let his weight rest on Yuuri so heavily that they both tumbled sideways. Victor cupped a hand around the back of Yuuri’s head and lowered him down as carefully as he could manage.

They sprawled across the floor, and Victor crawled up Yuuri’s body to press his face into Yuuri’s throat. The weight of him was crushing in Yuuri’s bruised and battered body. He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Their breathing synchronized. Yuuri plucked at the fabric of his own sweatshirt stretched across Victor’s body. “We never got cleaned up.”

Victor sighed. “I’m struggling with the idea of moving right now. Or taking those stairs again.”

Yuuri snorted softly. “Then I guess you’re bathing yourself in the sink.”

“That doesn’t sound unappealing.” Victor turned his head to the side and rested his cheek against Yuuri’s sternum. Yuuri’s hand drifted over the tangle of his hair. “And I still think that’ll take all the energy I have left.”

Yuuri’s hand settled on the back of his neck. “Then we should probably get to it.”

They cleared away their plates and set them on Yuuri’s desk, up and out of the way. With that done, they stripped down to only what they needed—sweat-stained shirts and boxer-briefs, their clothes kicked into a pile in the corner of the room to be dealt with tomorrow. Only Victor’s Olympic jacket was spared that fate; it was draped over the back of Yuuri’s desk chair.

They were fortunate that the upstairs bathroom was private—far too small to fit more than one person comfortably, just a toilet and a sink. Why have anything else when the bathing facility was just downstairs? But it suited them just fine; there was no one to interrupt as they washed their hands, their faces, scrubbed the grime from their arms and legs, and stripped otherwise to wipe down with soft cloths and gentle, mild soap.

Yuuri was content to keep Victor company, both of them nude and damp-dry as Victor hunched over to wash his hair in the sink. There wasn’t quite enough room to get redressed without kicking each other, but with no one else upstairs but the two of them, and a closed door between them and the rest of the world, Yuuri was in no rush.

He snorted softly as he rubbed his hands over his eyes, the frames of his old glasses folded and set on the side of the sink. “You know, this still doesn’t compare to the time the pipes froze in Minako’s studio. I had to clean off with her apple-scented hand-wipes once I finished dancing. I smelled like apples in class, but, like, _fake_ apples. Phichit made fun of me for weeks.” Yuuri reached over to pick a tangle out of Victor’s hair that he couldn’t see himself. “Or the time my family went camping and I took a bath in the lake. This is probably still more sanitary than that.”

Victor lifted his head from the stream only enough to shoot Yuuri a small, fond smile. “I think I’m gonna miss this the most.”

Yuuri sat forward, attention piqued. “What, listening to me ramble while we’re naked in a glorified closet?”

Victor laughed, short and bright. He spat the water he inhaled back into the sink basin and finished rinsing the dirt from his hair. Yuuri turned off the tap while Victor struggled to squeeze the water from the length of his locks; he accepted the towel he was offered, but only to wrap his hair and wring it out. “No,” Victor answered. “But being with you, yes. You telling me stories about your life, yes.”

Victor stood and leaned against the doorway; his body, though beautifully toned, was even more mottled with marks than it had been the night before. Yuuri had rewrapped his arms with fresh bandages, but the purple bruises on his ribs and legs were fading to bluish-green in some places, yellowing around the edges. He was a canvas of watercolor tones, pain in place of paint. Yuuri reached out to touch, gentle enough to leave no brushstrokes of his own, no fingerprints behind.

Victor reached for him in turn. His hands smoothed down the dips and curves of Yuuri’s ribs, fell to his bare waist, raising shivers wherever he went. He drew Yuuri forward and held him close, tucked Yuuri’s head under his chin. Their bodies were pressed flush; air chilled, blood warm, too exhausted to find arousal beyond the shared space of their comfort. “Of course, I’m always willing to be naked with you, with or without the closet. Preferably without. Closets aren’t really my thing.”

Yuuri snickered and buried his face against Victor’s shoulder. He wrapped his arms around Victor’s waist, smoothed his hands down the ridges of Victor’s spine and settled at his lower back. He was comfortable and content until the moment Victor reached back and nudged Yuuri’s hands down to rest against his ass.

Yuuri burst into scandalized giggles. Even so, he took the moment for what it was—a slice of humor interwoven with sensuality. His lips brushed Victor’s skin, drifted up to leave soft, lingering kisses against his throat. He pulled Victor nearer and felt the curve of his ass in his hands, savored the intimacy of their bodies together. Victor murmured appreciatively and ducked his head to nibble at the curve of Yuuri’s ear—tiny spikes of heat and electricity with no particular destination, no rush for completion.

Had it been any other day, maybe they would have had the energy for something, anything more. Instead, Yuuri just wanted to sleep with their bodies tangled together, Victor’s heartbeat against his one last time before he left.

“Come on,” Yuuri said with a faint smile. “Let’s brush our teeth and go to bed, hmm? I know it’s early, but I think we deserve it.”

Victor nuzzled into Yuuri’s hair. “Okay.”

Yuuri drew back; he reached up to touch Victor’s cheek and guide him down for a kiss. Afterward, they rinsed their mouths and wiped down the sink, gathered the rest of their dirty clothes and slipped into clean pairs of underwear for the short scamper back to Yuuri’s room. There, Victor freed his hair from the towel and laid it protectively across Yuuri’s pillowcase; he tied his locks back as he crawled between the sheets, collapsing heavily against the mattress.

Yuuri turned out the light and found his way to Victor’s side. He always had, and he always would.

“If I don’t wake up with you right here in the morning, I’m gonna be annoyed,” Yuuri warned him with a grumble. He tucked himself under Victor’s arm and slung an arm across his waist, nosing blindly against his warmth until Yuuri settled. The aches of his mind and his body were eased by the presence of his bondmate.

Victor’s kiss against his cheek had the distinct air of loving apology. “Of course. I’m not going anywhere.”

Then he realized. They both did.

And they held each other a little bit tighter after that.

 

* * *

 

The morning came. With it, gray skies, cold weather, and the colder reality that Victor was leaving him.

Yuuri sat up in bed with the blankets pulled around him, watching Victor move about the room and gather his belongings. He clung to the warmth left in the sheets that had been made by both their bodies, knew his bed would never feel as comfortable and welcoming again until Victor returned.

Yuuri hadn’t realized so many of Victor’s things had made it into his room. Several changes of clothes. His phone. His comb. A tin of _Chanel_ lip balm, of all things, that Yuuri was sure he’d never seen Victor use—but recognized by taste the second Victor leaned in for a kiss.

He cupped Yuuri’s cheeks like he was fragile, tipped his head up and back and made him feel so goddamn loved that his eyes burned. Yuuri’s hand fisted in the fabric of his shirt—a button down that was well-worn, crisp and white, more formal than anything he’d ever seen Victor wear in his presence, but had clearly been with him for several years.

How much of Victor’s self had Yuuri missed? How much was there yet to learn that was walking away from him right now?

“I feel a lot better this morning,” Yuuri murmured into his mouth, “so you better not shut me out.”

Victor stroked his thumbs over Yuuri’s cheekbones, over the delicate skin of his eyelids, cradled him close while he pressed their foreheads together. “It’s not a bad thing to get used to, Yuuri. With time, when the bond’s not so new, the way it feels will change. I doubt we’ll be as entwined as we are now.”

“You don’t know that.”

Victor kissed the top of his head. “I know I’m about to go more than seven thousand kilometers away from you, and even a hundred was enough to make it feel different before. I just… I want us both to be prepared that this might hurt.”

The sting of fear made Yuuri’s words bitter and barbed. “Well, good thing I already know what it feels like, I guess.”

Victor stared at him with his huge, sad, stupid eyes, and the anger was replaced with guilt. Yuuri slid forward, let the warmth of the blankets fall away from him and draw him to the edge of the mattress. Victor stood in the vee of his legs, radiating the same warmth Yuuri had just left.

He wasn’t gone. Not yet.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri whispered. He leaned forward and nuzzled Victor’s belly, hands settling on his hips.

His love. His bondmate. _His._

“Don’t be sorry.” Victor’s hands stroked through his hair. “I shouldn’t have locked you out. I don’t like doing it. It’s the most terrible feeling in the world.”

“Then…” Yuuri reached inward, touched the shape of the veil between them, fluttering with the softest touch. “Tell me it’ll be different. When you get back, you won’t lock me out again.”

Yuuri shivered as he felt Victor touch the slight, sensitive ridges on his scalp where his ears had been. The prickling sensation would fade with time, he knew. But he hoped _this_ remained.

“I can promise that without even having to think about it,” Victor replied.

“Think about it and promise me anyway.”

Victor took Yuuri’s hands in his own. Slowly, painstakingly, he lowered himself to his knees. He lay his face against the backs of Yuuri’s knuckles, let his lips brush the letters of the name they’d fought for and shared.

“When I get back… when I come home,” Victor said softly, “I’ll just be yours. It’ll be us, always.”

Yuuri took a breath. He took another. “Okay,” he said. He tried not to let the well of emotions overflow, to pour out his eyes or his mouth. “Okay.”

Victor turned Yuuri’s hands over in his own. He kissed both palms with devotion, with reverence; he purred when Yuuri cupped his cheeks and leaned down to kiss him.

“Okay,” Yuuri said again. “Let’s get ready. The sooner you go, the sooner you come back to me, right?”

Pain and love warred in Victor’s face. Neither of them could be sure which won in the end. He nodded.

Victor borrowed one of Yuuri’s bags to use as a carry-on. In it, he fit everything he’d brought with him.

Almost everything.

Yuuri held the Olympic jacket in his hands, took in the dirt, the stains, the evidence of the battle and the victory they'd shared the day before. He folded it carefully, smoothed his hands over the embroidery as he heard the sound of the zipper being closed.

“Wait,” Yuuri said. “You forgot this.”

Victor turned. He looked at Yuuri, then the jacket he held out in his hands. He hesitated, but only for a second.

Victor covered Yuuri’s fingers with his own, pushed both them and the sweatshirt back to Yuuri’s chest. “Keep it.”

Yuuri stared. He opened his mouth and closed it again. Words were failing him, and he struggled to find them. “But. Vitya. It’s important to you, it’s part of your past—”

Victor smiled. The sight of it was bittersweet. “You’re my future.”

Language failed Yuuri entirely.

Victor kissed Yuuri’s temple, drew him in until the jacket was pressed between their bodies, filthy as it was. Yuuri clung to it with one hand; the other fisted in Victor’s shirt. “Keep it safe for me, and let it keep _you_ safe. That way I’ll be with you when you get lonely.”

Yuuri’s eyes welled with tears. God, he’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t do this. He said he wouldn’t—

He lay his head against Victor’s shoulder and blinked away the tears. “Come back to me soon.”

Victor’s arms wrapped around him tight enough to hurt. It wasn’t half tight enough. “любимый. My Yuuri. In my heart, I’m already home with you.”

 

* * *

 

The worst part about being soul bonded to Victor was this:

Yuuri managed to avoid crying until after the plane took off.

Victor knew anyway.

 

* * *

 

Before everything had happened, Yuuri had expected everything to go back to normal once Yuri and Victor were gone.

Nothing felt normal anymore.

Maybe it never would again.

The further Victor went, the less Yuuri could feel him. Victor had been right in that regard. By the time night had fallen, he couldn’t feel Victor at all. It felt like part of him had died.

His mother had seen seen his name, had not seen his ears, and Yuuri gave in. He told her everything, _everything,_ whether or not she believed him. But when he told her that Victor was to him what Minako was to Mari, he saw the understanding bloom in her eyes—and her pity.

He showed her the jacket, bared his heart and his scars. She helped him wash the stains from the white without harming the vibrant red. She sent him to soak and wrapped his wounds when he was dry. She made him katsudon, even though finals were still a long way away. She helped him polish his scratched glasses until they were passable. When she offered to order him new lenses, Yuuri admitted that Victor had ordered them this morning on the way to the airport. They were already paid for; Yuuri would have his glasses back long before Victor.

She kissed the top of Yuuri’s head and told him that she hoped Vicchan came home soon.

Yuuri curled around the Olympic jacket that night, knowing Victor was still somewhere in the air, that there was no chance to speak to him tonight when their hurt would be most raw. All he could do was exactly what he had been doing all along.

Live. Live, and wait.

The sweatshirt was soft, but only smelled of detergent. It was the kindness of fortune that Yuuri’s blankets still held the scent of Victor’s skin. Yuuri pulled the covers over his head and lay in the dark until the sun began to rise.

 

* * *

 

Strictly speaking, Yuuri was not supposed to go to school for a few more days. However, given that he had no one to share his time with, Yuuri went anyway.

He sat in the library and planned his lessons. He brushed up on his reading. He eked through his work with a blinding headache, taking aspirin three at a time. He sat with his phone on the table beside him, face-up, volume on.

When it rang, Yuuri left everything. Just picked up his phone, picked up the call, and left all his belongings unsupervised.

Stupid. _Stupid._ But he figured he knew his classmates well enough, and truth be told, he didn’t care.

“Vitya,” he breathed. “Wait, hang on, I’m trying to get out of the library—”

Yuuri went out the side door without his winter coat, wearing only Victor’s sweatshirt. He’d left his ID inside on the table. He wouldn’t be able to go back in the way he’d come out; there would be a long walk all the way around the library building ahead of him.

Right now, that didn’t matter. Yuuri leaned back against the cold brick and said, “Vitya.”

_“Yuuri.”_

Yuuri rubbed at his eyes. One hand folded over his heart and clenched in the fabric there.

Victor’s breath shuddered across the line. _“It hurts.”_

Yuuri had to be strong. He had to, for Victor. He swallowed hard. “I know, I feel it too.”

Victor went silent. For a while, they simply listened to the sound of each other breathing. _“Did you sleep?”_

A sharp bark of laughter forced its way out between Yuuri’s teeth. “Did you?”

_“No.”_

“Me either.”

Silence.

 _“Yuuri, I hate this. I hate it. Yura didn’t say a word the whole way home, he just stared at the window and tried to pretend he wasn’t crying. It’s cruel. It’s not fair. I…”_ Victor’s voice lowered to something near a whisper. _“Exalted gets to be together and we don’t, and I_ **_hate_ ** _them, Yuuri. I do.”_

“I know,” Yuuri replied. That morning, for a moment, he’d felt the same way about Mari and Minako. It wasn’t fair to them, of course—but _this_ wasn’t fair to _him,_ either. “It’s crazy to think that Yakov and Lilia have survived this for as long as they have.”

Victor went quiet for a moment. Yuuri heard him swallow, felt his hesitation only by being so familiar with him now. He could hear the guilt Victor felt as he murmured, _“They don’t have what we have.”_

It wasn’t a kind thought, but he wasn’t wrong. Still, Yuuri deflected for the sake of not making Victor feel worse. “No one has what we have.” Yuuri took a breath and let it out. In for four, out for eight. “My mom asked about you.”

That startled Victor into a laugh, interspersed with a groan. _“Oh, no. I’m sorry.”_

“Don’t be sorry.” Yuuri tipped his head back and closed his eyes—imagined he was wherever Victor was, instead of standing outside wearing his sweatshirt. “I asked her to help me wash your jacket. I’m wearing it now. And I told her everything. I think she finally got it after a while.”

Yuuri fell silent; Victor didn’t interrupt.

“She said she hoped you come back soon. So tell Yakov, okay? If he keeps you there for too long, he’ll have Mama Katsuki to deal with.”

Yuuri could hear Victor’s smile when he replied, _“I’d love to see that.”_

“Is he mad about Lilia?”

 _“No. He knows there’s nothing she can do about needing to arrange things before she leaves—if she leaves. There’s a lot of time that passed, they need to talk; really, I guess we just won’t know until—”_ there was a rustle on the other end, a labored breath; a click, and then the whirring of wheels hitting the ground. A disbelieving question in Russian, and a familiar voice arguing close enough for Yuuri to hear.

Yuuri smiled to himself. It was bittersweet. “How’s Yura holding up?”

 _“Well, he’s too busy_ **_talking to Otabek_ ** _to_ **_get his own suitcase_** _, so that’s something,”_ Victor said pointedly, and Yuuri laughed when he heard Yuri’s cursing in the background. _“You’d think he put bricks in that thing. How’s Otabek doing?”_

Yuuri hummed in consideration. Then he sighed, testing the door, and decided to start the long walk back. At least he’d be closer to warmth by the time they were done. “I haven’t seen him yet. I’m not supposed to be at school.”

_“Which means you’re there right now.”_

“Of course.”

_“Well, keep an eye on him if you get a chance.”_

Yuuri wandered. He talked Victor through the airport, and by the time he was approaching the library doors, Victor had gotten to customs.

Yuuri stopped. He tilted his head back and looked up at the library sign. He hadn’t even realized he’d stopped talking until Victor said, _“Yuuri?”_

“I’m standing in front of the library,” Yuuri said softly. “And part of me keeps hoping I’m gonna look over and you’ll be sitting on the bench, waiting for me.”

Victor hummed in reply, low and sad. _“If I could, I’d be there in a heartbeat.”_

“I know.” Yuuri sighed. “I love you.”

_“And I love you. Try to get some sleep for me tonight, okay? I have no idea how long I’m going to have to be here and I don’t want you straining yourself with your concussion. Take it easy with the schoolwork, too.”_

Yuuri snorted. “Okay, _mom._ ”

_“I’ll take that as a compliment.”_

“Mari, then.”

_“Pushing it.”_

Yuuri smiled. The separation hurt, but this felt real. He latched onto the feeling and pulled it close, memorized it. Saved it. “Can I call you tonight before bed, or will you be asleep?”

_“I’m sure I won’t be. Call me whenever you want. And text me your class schedule so I don’t interrupt your lectures.”_

Yuuri clutched his phone. His heart hurt, but he smiled through it. “I miss you.”

 _“I’ll be home soon.”_ Yuuri certainly hoped so. _“Okay, I’m almost to the desk. I have to go. Call me later, love.”_

“I will,” Yuuri promised. “Love you.”

Yuuri stood outside the library for a while after the line went dead, staring at the bench. He tried to picture Victor there again, to pull forth the memory of him waiting for Yuuri that day. It wasn’t quite right. He couldn’t figure out why, at first, the memory felt so strange to him now.

Later that night, as he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, it clicked.

_He didn’t love me yet._

Yuuri had thought about what if would be like to go back, to do everything again. For the first time, he didn’t want to.

He only wanted to look forward.

He pressed _dial._ “Hi. Miss me?”

_“Always.”_

 

* * *

 

A week passed, and they were no closer to a solution. Yuuri was exhausted, aching, and alone.

It was on no particular day that Otabek dropped into the seat opposite Yuuri, startling him out of his studies.

“So,” he said. “I’m leaving.”

Yuuri closed his book.

 

* * *

 

“He said he applied for an expedited non-immigrant visa.” Yuuri tapped his fingers against the tabletop. His phone lay face-up beside his hand, screen black. “He’s got some uncle or something in Russia who agreed to sponsor him, and I guess the Uzbek embassy is _way_ more prompt about processing Russian visas because they’re post-Soviet, and…”

Phichit leaned forward and stole a sip from Yuuri’s boba. He hummed at the flavor, then stole a french fry. Minako’s bar offered all sorts of comfort foods. Yuuri needed… well, all of them.

“And I’m guessing you’re bringing this up to me because you have some thoughts.” Phichit folded his fingers together on the bar. “Let’s hear them.”

Minako was busy restocking the wet bar and only had half an ear turned to their conversation. Yuuri stared down at his hands, and prayed she wasn’t paying attention. “Victor hasn’t heard back from his embassy yet. But I, um. I heard from mine.”

That _did_ Minako’s attention. “You _what_ now? _Yuuri._ ”

Yuuri held his hands up defensively, wide-eyed. “I haven’t made any decisions, I swear. I just wanted to know what my options were.”

Phichit stared at him, straw dangling from his mouth. “Yuuri, doesn’t that seem really hasty? You’re not a freshman like Altin, you’re in the middle of your Master’s.”

“I know,” Yuuri moaned. He lay his face down on the bar, despite Minako’s protests about sanitation. “I know.”

“Yuuri, your mother would _die,_ ” Minako said, staring at him with huge, sad eyes. “Your sister—your whole family is here. Your life is here. Would you really drop it all?”

Yuuri closed his eyes, pulled his arms around his face to shield it from the light. “I don’t _want_ to,” he murmured. “I don’t have any family there. I’d have to transfer my credits. It would be a huge mess, but it probably wouldn’t be until the end of the semester anyway.”

Phichit took a breath. He whistled it out slowly, and Yuuri heard him tapping away at his phone before he answered. Telling Seung-Gil, probably. “A huge mess is right,” he said. “Geez. What did Victor say?”

Yuuri mumbled into his arms.

“What?” Minako asked.

Yuuri lifted his head. “I haven’t asked him yet. Like I said, nothing’s set in stone. I just… I just wanted to know.”

Minako leaned back on her elbows on the opposite side of the bar. She rubbed a hand over her face. “Yuuri, just when I think I understand you, you go and throw me for a loop.”

Yuuri looked away. He swirled his bubble tea in the plastic cup, watched the tapioca pearls swish with the current of the liquid. His voice, when he spoke, sounded dead even to his own ears. “Sorry, Minako-sensei.”

She sighed heavily. She and Phichit shared a glance.

“You miss him that much?” Phichit asked.

“It hurts every moment I’m not with him,” Yuuri confessed. “I can’t really sleep. I can’t focus. Otabek mentioned it and I… I guess I didn’t even think. I just sent the email to ask. I wasn’t even really expecting a response, but now I have one, so I _have_ to think about it.”

They were all silent for a moment. Yuuri put his face in his hands.

Phichit’s hand landed on Yuuri’s shoulder and offered a gentle rub. “Yuuri. You know my advice.”

Yuuri nodded silently.

Phichit continued, “Yeah, going after him in the beginning was a good idea. You wanted what you wanted, and that’s okay, you know? But doing this now… it’d be reckless. You’re so _close_ , Yuuri. It’s all you’ve talked about. How close you are to graduating? Less than a year. And if you want to graduate and _then_ go running off to St. Petersburg, then I’d say _go for it._ But right now…” His friend tipped his head to the sigh and offered a melancholy smile. “I really gotta say, _don’t_ go for it.”

“I think that’s a lot nicer than how I was gonna put it,” Minako agreed. She reached across the bar to steal one of Yuuri’s fries. He pushed them over between Phichit and Minako so they could take what they wanted. Yuuri wasn’t hungry anymore.

“I guess I knew that,” Yuuri said softly. “I just wished I didn’t.”

The screen of his phone lit up. Yuuri didn’t bother to look before he turned it face-down.

The name on the back of his hand was looking more like an accusation every day.

 

* * *

 

They sat on the bridge side-by-side, feet dangling over the edge. Otabek’s hood was pulled up over his head to shield him from the frigid breeze. Yuuri, bundled in Victor’s sweatshirt and a new, black winter coat, was resisting the urge to pull his hat on. It had been two and a half weeks, and his scalp still twinged from the loss of his ears.

“Are you nervous?” Yuuri asked.

Otabek glanced at him, then back out at the water. He raised and dropped one shoulder in a shrug that was not nearly as casual as it seemed. “I dunno. I guess a little. But no, not really.”

Yuuri’s feet swung back and forth as he considered his next words. “And you don’t regret… leaving your classes?”

“What, dropping out?” Otabek asked. He held onto the bar for support and leaned back as far as he could, and dropped his head back to look up at the sky. The hood tumbled down from around his face, but he didn’t seem bothered. “No. Not really that, either.”

Yuuri envied him. He leaned forward, cushioning his face against his crossed arms, and stared down at the ocean below. “When’s your flight?”

“Not for another week and a half.” Otabek sat upright again with a heavy sigh. “It’s just… I haven’t been sleeping. And Yura’s having an even harder time than me. He says Yakov’s in a mood, _Victor’s_ in a mood, as I’m sure you know.”

“He still hasn’t heard from his embassy,” Yuuri replied, and forced a tight smile. “He said he was gonna go down there today. They’re probably gonna tell him six to eight weeks. And it’s not like he has family here to help speed it along.”

Otabek frowned. “You can’t do anything from here?”

Yuuri’s heart fluttered. “No. Even fiancé visas require several months’ documentation of the relationship. Victor and I don’t have that yet. Like Phichit said, there’s no protection for soulmates.”

“And you’re still gonna stay?”

Yuuri opened his mouth—

 

* * *

 

“Yura must be excited about Otabek,” Yuuri murmured into his phone later that night.

 _“Ecstatic,”_ Victor replied wryly. _“And nervous. He’s cleaned his room like five times already. Keeps moving around all his posters. This is coming from a kid who hadn’t cleaned his room since he got here, mind you.”_

Yuuri lay on his back on the middle of the mattress, Victor’s sweatshirt spread over him like a blanket, surrounded by books. His glasses were folded and tucked over the collar of his shirt, good as new.

“What about you?” Yuuri asked.

Victor went quiet. The silence was an answer itself.

“Ah.” Yuuri closed his eyes. “Okay.”

 _“They keep saying soon, but no one can tell me when soon is going to be.”_ Victor, at least, sounded as frustrated as he did. _“They’ll look into it, they’ll get back to me. No one ever does. And Yakov keeps trying to convince me to stay.”_

Yuuri’s heart was beating in his throat. “Does he?”

 _“Yeah. That I should settle down here, get an apartment away from the Academy. Get a dog or something. He keeps telling me not to uproot my life.”_ Victor swallowed loud enough for Yuuri to hear. _“Remember when I said that they don’t have what we have? It’s never been more obvious to me than it is now. That Yakov thinks I could just… sit down and wait, and not chase you all over the world if I have to. I don’t know if he’s never felt like this, or. Or…”_

Yuuri rolled onto his side and pulled Victor’s sweatshirt close, curled around it like he could embrace his Bonded if he just tried hard enough. “Or if we’re just weird? I don’t think we are. I know Yura’s impatient, but Otabek seems like a level-headed kid.”

_“Yuuri, he dropped out of college and is leaving the country. That’s not level-headed at all.”_

Yuuri let out a startled bark of laughter. Wow. Well when he put it like _that…_ “I guess not,” Yuuri admitted. “But I… still kind of admire him for it.”

Victor fell silent. Contemplative. Thoughtful. _“Yuuri… you’re not—”_

“I don’t know,” Yuuri replied quietly. He glanced over at the open envelope sitting on his desk, surrounded by two months’ worth of lesson plans, an open bag beside his desk, his laptop open to a tab he’d stared at for so long that he didn’t need his glasses to remember what it said. “I really don’t know.”

He listened to Victor breathe for a moment, attempting to interpret the layers of his complicated silence, while Victor tried to read his in return.

 _“Will you tell me?”_ Victor asked. _“When you do know?”_

Yuuri balled the sweatshirt up and rolled onto his back. For all his imagination, nothing could compare to the comfort of Victor lying atop him, the welcome and familiar compress of his body. Yuuri couldn’t get it out of his head.

“You’ll be the first, I promise.”

 

* * *

 

They had made the offer weeks ago to drive Otabek to the airport. One month to the day that Victor and Yuri had left, it was finally time.

With the sun setting earlier and earlier every day, it was night by the time they piled into the car to drive to Fukuoka airport. The streetlights glowed gold as they passed over the bridge out of Hasetsu. For a while, all was dark. All was quiet. Yuuri was alone with his thoughts.

The lights got brighter the closer they got to the airport until the car was bathed in the shine of LEDs and fluorescents. Yuuri knew, one way or another, he probably wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.

“We’ll see you off,” Mari said as they pulled up to the arrivals area. “Just let us park the car and we’ll meet you here.”

Otabek nodded and hopped out, and Yuuri followed him. Mari watched him with an unreadable expression through the rearview until her line of sight was cut off by popping the trunk. Otabek grabbed one bag; Yuuri hefted the other over his shoulder.

As Mari and Minako pulled off to park the car, Yuuri fell into step beside Otabek as they headed toward the flight check-in.  He offered a weak smile. “Nervous yet?”

Otabek huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, I am now. I guess it caught up to me. Part of me thinks I’m being young and dumb.”

Yuuri’s smile widened. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being young and dumb.”

Otabek hummed in consideration, putting out his phone and glancing down at his airline app. He cast Yuuri a sly, sidelong glance. “You’re one to talk.”

They picked up the tickets at the counter; Otabek’s bag checked through without a hitch, since they’d weighed it before he’d even left his dorm. Clothes and personal effects, check. Carry on, check.

And now—

Yuuri looked around the lobby and caught no sight of Mari or Minako. “Do you think they already went to security?”

“Yuuri! There you are.” Mari and Minako had found them after all. Mari glanced at the bag on Yuuri’s shoulder, and then to Otabek, and—“Hey, can I talk to you for a second?”

Yuuri went still and silent. He swallowed. “Yeah. Sure. You two can go ahead, I’ll catch up.”

Their instrutiable looks weighed heavily on Yuuri’s conscious, none more so than Mari’s. However, they nodded in acquiescence and made their way toward security for the international terminal.

Yuuri and Mari lingered behind and watched them go.

“Yuuri.”

Yuuri’s heart went to his throat. “Look, I know. I know.”

“I know you know,” Mari replied with a frown, and crossed her arms over her chest. Her head tipped to the side as she assessed him and clearly found him lacking. “I just want to make sure you’ve thought it through. It’s going to be a lot to deal with by yourself.”

Yuuri ducked his head and scuffed his foot against the tile. “I won’t be by myself.”

Mari blustered out a sigh. “Yeah, okay, I get that. I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing, Yuuri. I know it’s been eating you. I know it hasn’t been easy. Don’t think I haven’t seen you suffering, so believe me, I get it. I just. As your sister, I have to ask, okay?”

Yuuri offered her a timid smile. “Well, I always have to drag it out to the last second.”

“Drama.” Mari nodded with all the labored understanding of someone who had been dealing with Yuuri’s dramatics her entire life. Exasperated. Affectionate. A little sad.

“I know what’s right for me,” Yuuri said, and turned to watch Otabek disappear into the crowd. “This is it. I guess I just had to think about it for a while.”

A lump formed in his throat. Yuuri’s eyes started to burn.

“Hey, shit, no. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I know your mind’s made up.” Mari reeled him into a tight embrace. Her arms fit awkwardly around the bag. “Hey. Come on, now. Don’t cry, there’s no need for that. You know I hate it when you cry.”

Yuuri swallowed hard. He pressed his face against her shoulder. “I just miss him, Mari.”

“I know,” she soothed, and passed a hand over his hair once, twice, three times. “That’s why I wanted to make sure. Sacrifice to Sacrifice. Our instinct will always be to protect them no matter what.”

Yuuri nodded. With a sniffle, he pulled back.

Mari smiled, just a little. “Have you called him yet?”

Yuuri shook his head.

“You should.”

Yuuri replied, “Yeah, I know.”

They walked side by side through the airport, the crowds thinning with the late hour. Sound bounced off the tile and concrete; every footstep felt like an earthquake and rebounded into Yuuri’s ears.

Maybe it was just the pounding of his heart.

They found Minako and Otabek waiting for them patiently at the entrance to security. Time was winding down, and Yuuri knew there was no more to spare.

Otabek held out his hand. “Here, I’ll take that now.”

He didn’t stumble or huff as he swung the significant weight onto his back. He simply looked through the clear plexiglass barricades, took in the sight of the guards waiting and watching them in turn. Otabek took in a breath and let it out slowly, and Yuuri pretended that he didn’t hear it shudder.

Yuuri smiled. His chest ached.

He held out his hand, fist closed. Otabek looked at it, then at him. He blinked.

Then he smiled too, and bumped Yuuri’s fist with his own.

“Good luck,” Yuuri said quietly. “Sounds like you’re gonna need it, if Victor’s really in the kind of mood that Yura’s been complaining about.”

Otabek frowned. “Yeah.” He glanced down at Yuuri’s pocket. “You haven’t called Victor yet?”

“Not today. I wanted to be sure.” Yuuri’s throat was tight. “And I wasn’t until this morning.”

A complicated look passed Otabek’s face. He looked to Minako, but then seemed to shake it off. Otabek refocused his attention to security. “I guess it’s time.”

“Ganbatte.” Yuuri smiled. “And have a safe flight.”

Yuuri watched Otabek summon his will and hold his head high. He checked his pocket for both tickets, for his first flight and the one after his layover in Tokyo, and steadied himself. “Thank you. For all that you’ve done for me, and for Yura.”

Yuuri raised and dropped one shoulder in the approximation of Otabek’s casual shrug. “You’re family now. Both of you. And you’re always welcome back if you want to visit.”

Otabek nodded, and nodded again as the words seemed to sink in. “Thanks.” He took a deep breath. “Okay. Alright.”

“Check in when you hit Tokyo or if you run into any issues,” Minako said firmly. “I’ve got friends out there if you run into anything weird, but the weather looks good, so you should be all set.”

Otabek smiled, a small little thing. “Thank you, Minako; Mari. Yuuri. I know I’ll end up seeing you again, so I guess I’ll just say _see you later._ ”

He turned. He steeled himself.

Then Otabek was gone, disappearing into the crowd, and Yuuri was left standing and wondering if he’d made a terrible mistake. His heart was pounding in his throat. Everything in him said that he should go too _,_ that even without luggage, without his passport, somehow if he just _wanted_ it enough—

—god, he wanted it so much.

But he couldn’t.

“Call him,” Minako urged him gently, and reached out to give Yuuri a nudge. “Go.”

Yuuri swallowed hard. He glanced back at them with a weak smile, barely holding himself together at the seams. “Okay. I’ll find you when I’m done.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Mari replied. Her eyes were fond, her smile a little sad. “Go ahead.”

Yuuri turned. He did not see as Minako linked her hands with Mari’s and led her away, or the sharp tilt to Mari’s head; her sudden glance back to Yuuri in surprise.

Either way, it didn’t matter.

Yuuri pressed _dial_ and lifted the phone to his ear, and started to walk.

It rang once. Twice. Three times. Four. Victor answered on the fifth, and sounded slightly breathless. _“_ _Алло?”_

Yuuri frowned. He glanced down at his phone, then raised it to his ear again. “Vitya?”

_“Oh, Yuuri! Sorry, I didn’t check my caller ID, I thought I was going to miss it.”_

Yuuri smiled just a little bit. His chest ached at the sound of Victor’s voice. He missed him. So much. “That’s okay, I—” The PA system blared overhead, and Yuuri paused to scowl at the ceiling as it announced that Otabek’s flight to Tokyo was boarding. “Wow, already?”

Victor went suddenly silent. And then urgent, all at once. _“Yuuri, wait. Are you at the airport? I thought—you said you’d give me some warning—”_

Guilt welled thick in Yuuri’s throat. His eyes shimmered with it. He blinked hard and wove around a family headed toward security, wandering. “No, Vitya. I—no. Sorry. I should have called before.” Yuuri swallowed hard and hoped his voice didn’t crack. “I’m sorry. I’ve thought about it a lot, and I’m not—I can’t. I love you so much, please don’t think I don’t—”

_“Oh—Yuuri, no, that’s okay—”_

“—I just. I talked to Minako and Phichit, and they were right, you know? I’m so close.” Yuuri stopped in the middle of the hallway and pressed one hand over his eyes. He felt like a failure, a traitor. Everything inside him hurt. “I’m so close to graduating, and my whole family is here, and I want to be with you so much, but I have to wait. And maybe… maybe if the visa thing doesn’t work out, I can come visit for your birthday. Spend it there with you.”

 _“Yuuri._ _любимый. My love. Listen to me for a moment.”_

Yuuri went silent. He nodded before he realized Victor couldn’t see it. “Sorry. Yeah, go ahead.”

_“I never once expected you to leave everything for me, okay? Never. Your family is there. Your life is there. Your dreams, at least for the moment, are right where you are. I knew that from the beginning, I didn’t think anything else. Okay?”_

Yuuri looked up. His eyes were blurry, and he blinked to clear them. “I know. I just. I wanted to surprise you, too. I wish I was impulsive like Otabek, but I’m not. Or, um. I’m not for anyone but you. But I can’t be right now.”

Victor’s voice went faint under a din of noise; Yuuri could barely hear him. _“I’m glad you’re not, Yuuri. I want you exactly as you are.”_

Yuuri frowned. Maybe reception wasn’t so good when he was surrounded by metal and shopfronts. He kept walking, heading nowhere in particular. “Nine more months of this is a long time, and I _really_ hope this visa thing gets worked out before then. But I worked really hard for this; I know you understand that. That you have students at home, too, so you get it. I can’t just leave in the middle of the semester. And I—if I visit, I could bring my lesson plans. I could stay for a little while, maybe a week or two, if that’s okay, and—”

The PA system blared again, an arrival this time. Yuuri growled under his breath, frustrated at not being able to center his thoughts.

 _“Yuuri,”_ Victor said with all the love in the world, and Yuuri was immediately soothed. _“I can hear you getting worked up. Where are you now? Tell me about it, the things you see.”_

“I don’t know.” Yuuri looked up, looked for a sign, something. “I’ve just been… walking. I just wanted to talk to you, I didn’t really think about where I was going, I guess.”

Victor’s voice was nearly cut off under another wave of noise. _“—does it look like?”_

“What?” Yuuri’s frown deepened. “Victor, where are _you?_ I can barely hear you.” Yuuri scanned the area, found a landmark in a sign suspended from the ceiling, a stick figure person with an arrow pointing through a gate, heading out. “I’m near arrivals, I guess. Why?”

_“Okay. Good.”_

Yuuri stopped. He listened carefully to the noise over the other end of Victor’s line. That sounded like—

 _“Hey, Yuuri,”_ Victor murmured, and oh.

_Oh._

Light and color burst to life inside his mind, and it had been so _damn_ long without him that Yuuri hadn’t even realized how _close—_

—he turned, breathless, and on the other side of the glass, grinning like an idiot, Victor was there.

Yuuri shoved his phone in his pocket without bothering to end the call. Victor let go of his bag; it toppled over. This time when Yuuri ran, it was to someone who was running back.

Yuuri burst through the doors and impacted Victor with enough force to send them both stumbling backward, to impede the flow of traffic around them, to draw surprised stares and murmurs. Yuuri couldn’t have cared less about what anyone else thought; he cupped Victor’s face in his hands and pulled him into a frantic kiss, wound his arms around Victor’s neck, and held him with the full and honest intention of never letting go.

His eyes sparked and stung with sensation, with joy, with tears. “You’re _here,_ ” Yuuri said. He felt weak. Strong. Overwhelmed by both.

_Love love love love love you, love you, love you, любимый, love of my life, my Yuuri._

Yuuri curled his hand into a fist and thumped him on the sternum, weak with elation and fury, rolled together. “Victor Nikiforov, you _terrible_ human being. You didn’t even warn me, you didn’t—”

Victor gripped the Olympic jacket and reeled him in, kissed him hard. Yuuri melted. He would never do anything else.

Yuuri blinked through his tears—brushed Victor’s bangs away from the blue of his eyes, reached around his neck to tug the elastic free, to wind his fingers into Victor’s hair like he’d been dreaming about for a month.

“Yuuri,” Victor murmured against his skin, overwrought, overcome, his voice thick with the love and longing they shared. “I’ve been thinking about what I can do for you as your Fighter from now on—”

“Me too,” Yuuri whispered. He swallowed hard, fisted his hands in Victor’s coat and shoved him back. Held him at arm’s length as he took in Victor’s face, his eyes, his shock—his smile. “Stay with me, Vitya. Forever, no matter where we go. Stay with me and never leave.”

Victor’s mouth dropped open with mute wonder, his eyes red-rimmed and shining. He nodded, trembling, reaching for Yuuri and Yuuri reached back—

Victor linked their hands together, twined their fingers, held their hands crossed between their bodies. He bent his head, hair sweeping over his shoulder and catching on everything as he pressed his lips to the letters.

“It’s—” Victor cleared his throat, laughed helplessly as he pressed his face to Yuuri’s hand, smeared the salt of his tears into Yuuri’s skin—not as thick as the blood they’d shed together, but twice as potent. “It’s almost like a marriage proposal. Right? That’s what—that’s what you do. You stay together.”

Yuuri nodded. His heart was in his throat, but the taste of it was sweet. Expanding, consuming, fit to burst, and Yuuri ready to explode, shining for the one he loved. “For better or for worse.”

“For better or for worse,” Victor repeated, so soft that it was barely a whisper of sound with the movement of his lips. Yuuri could not hear the words, but he didn’t need to. He felt them resonate in his bones.

They were two celestial bodies born of the same star, sharing one orbit on a collision course of destiny. The gravity between them was inevitable. The chains of light that bound their souls together were voluntary, proudly borne and wielded. Their restrictions were their armor. Their tethers were their strength.

Love. Choice.

Two hearts, one name.

 _Fated,_ it said.

And Fated they were.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> Nae drew me a heckin beautiful thing, and I cry all the heckin time about it. [Reblog it here.](http://nae812.tumblr.com/post/171138947647/maydei-this-is-also-for-you-because-youre)
> 
> Please stay tuned for the epilogue next week!! :D
> 
> [reblog this chapter](https://maydei.tumblr.com/post/170930989457/title-fated-pairing-victuuri-victor) || [scream at the author person](http://maydei.tumblr.com/ask)


	22. Loveless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time is a circle. Fate begins the same way it ends, and begins again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...it's done. Holy shit.
> 
> All my love to [Rae](http://extranikiforov.tumblr.com), seriously. Thank you. Thank you.
> 
> An unbelievable shoutout to everyone who has read with me this far, shouted your encouragement, and sent me artwork. You're the reason we're here tonight, and that this is the last installment... for now. 
> 
> Please check out these [gorgeous](http://nae812.tumblr.com/post/171138947647/maydei-this-is-also-for-you-because-youre) [illustrations](http://nae812.tumblr.com/post/171138826887/one-more-commission-for-maydei-3-you-can-should) by [Nae](http://nae812.tumblr.com/), which have been embedded into their respective chapters. Nae never ceases to amaze me. I've been so, so lucky to meet her because of this fic and the commissions for it. Thank you so, so much for bringing the pictures in my brain to life. <3
> 
> So here it is... the end. 
> 
> **EDIT:** This chapter contains material that may be sensitive to some. Please proceed with caution. Check the end notes for trigger warnings.

 

 

Time passed quickly once Yuuri and Victor were reunited.

Dancing was more fun when Yuuri no longer had to worry about keeping his secrets. Studying didn’t seem so strenuous when there was someone to read over Yuuri’s shoulder. The nights didn’t seem so cold when there was someone curled up beside him.

By the time that winter struck in earnest, Yuuri and Victor took possession of the room beside his own—dusty, filled with old boxes and piles that had to be relocated, but ultimately larger. Victor had no compunctions about helping Yuuri rearrange things in the name of gaining them a little more room to themselves. Nor, apparently, about spending an exorbitant amount of money on furniture and other such creature comforts. When confronted by Yuuri about the sheer excess, Victor seemed completely unbothered—claimed intelligent investment of his sponsorship money, combined with the fact that he’d had no living costs while attending the Academy. Admittedly, the sectional couch was a worthy addition. Yuuri couldn’t exactly complain about the bed, either.

Before he knew it, the semester was over. The holidays had passed, and with them, Victor’s birthday—they spent those days entrenched in love and comfort, surrounded by Yuuri’s family that had claimed Victor for their own.

They had no reason to fear, no reason to worry, no reason to hurt. The only lingering frustration was that of trying to unite the Academies, which had been easier said than done. Nathalie Leroy and Celestino Cialdini had been resistant to Victor’s push for modernization—with no matching data, they said, there was simply no point. It wasn’t until Lilia and Victor had coded the alpha form of the new program and successfully run it through beta testing that they were willing to concede that maybe, _maybe_ they had an actionable idea.

By the time things started coming together, the snow was beginning to melt. Yuuri and Victor worked diligently through the day and came home exhausted, crept around the onsen trying not to disturb anyone with the strange hours they kept due to their studies and their work. With the final semester of his graduate degree, Yuuri took up a temporary position at the local elementary school. Victor started teaching at the Academy in Goura, carpooling the significant distance with Mari and Minako. Yuuri always seemed to find studying or writing his thesis to keep himself busy during Victor’s extensive commutes; luckily, there wasn’t much grading to be done when his students were better-versed in finger paint than word processors.

And it wasn’t exactly easy to find time for intimacy when one was surrounded by the constant company of family and a bustling business. Well—they found enough time. But that wasn’t the point.

So when the last of the frosts faded, when hanami season arrived with the first warm days of spring, Yuuri was shocked to realize that Victor had been home for six months already.

Finals were barrelling down upon him. With his mornings absorbed by his young students and his afternoons with research, Yuuri had been spending most of his unoccupied time in the library. Still, Yuuri thought as he packed his laptop and papers into his bag, he wanted to do something special to celebrate. Surely he could afford one evening off. Maybe they could go out, walk the streets and enjoy the festival booths, just the two of them. It would be nice to have some time alone when it seemed they got so little.

Yuuri shrugged on Victor’s sweatshirt—a little more worn, a little more faded than it had been a few months ago, but he only ever smiled when he saw Yuuri wear it, so it must be okay—and swung his backpack onto his shoulder. He saw several bent heads shoot up, staring enviously at his position—prime studying grounds were in high demand, and as a grad student, Yuuri knew all the best spots. As he got up to leave, he saw a silent battle of wills break out over who would claim his seat. He laughed about it to himself to mask the stress of having nearly thirty pages left to write for his thesis. It seemed everyone was as strung-out as he was.

As he emerged from the library into the blinding springtime sun, Yuuri took a moment for his eyes to adjust. Just a few months ago, his journey with Victor had truly begun right here. He had been seated on one of the benches, waiting for Yuuri, a shining silver beacon—

—Yuuri froze.

Sitting on that very same bench was a stranger, someone Yuuri was sure he’d _never_ seen around campus before. Perhaps a few years older than Yuuri himself, they bore a certain similarity. The stranger, like him, was Japanese; tall, dressed entirely in black, with a jacket that zipped high up his throat, and an expensive-looking camera hanging from a strap around his neck. His dark hair fell in waves that brushed his shoulders. There was a small, square bandage at the corner of this mouth, and his eyes were a striking shade of gray that bordered on violet.

Eyes that locked on Yuuri, and did not waver when the man stood.

_Vitya!_

The call was automatic, not entirely conscious. However, the immediacy with which Yuuri felt the sudden wave of anxiety was met with worry all its own. Victor had been right—with time and distance, the bond’s presence was less of a live feed of sensation and more of a warm presence that lingered beside his own. But when the need arose, they could communicate clearly and effectively.

During peacetime, the need had been distant. This felt like a threat. The man’s head tilted to the side, as though he were weighing the strength of Yuuri’s call in the air. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just here to talk.”

_Yuuri! What’s wrong?_

Yuuri lifted his chin, felt the aura wrapped like gossamer around the stranger, and the threads that traveled outward and invisible toward him. Curiosity. Interest. A certain level of wariness that the man held for him in turn.

More interest, now. He knew _exactly_ what Yuuri was doing.

He nodded in solemn approval. “I heard you were strong.” And then, like a wave, the man’s posture slackened into an almost juvenile slouch. “Relax. I’m a Sacrifice, too. I can’t do anything without my Fighter, and he’s off doing…”  He waved his hand vaguely. “Whatever it is he does when I’m not around.”

_Yuuri?_

Yuuri tightened his grip on the strap of his bag. _I’m okay. Sorry. False alarm._

_Are you sure? You feel tense._

_New Sacrifice in town. Not sure what he wants, but I don’t feel his Fighter anywhere nearby._

The man watched Yuuri, absorbed his indecision. Yuuri felt uncertain about the whole thing himself. If a threat _did_ arise, if Victor was hours away—

_Yuuri, I don’t like it. Your instincts are good, if something about this guy set you off, then I don’t—_

A sudden ping of surprise. Yuuri went tense. _Vitya? What’s happening?_

_Someone set off the proximity alarm. Sorry, Yuuri, I have to go._

Anxiety churned in Yuuri’s stomach. He took a step back; the stranger watched him, but made no move to step forward. _Vitya, please be careful._

 _I’m sure it’s nothing. Mari and Minako are here, and Weariless stopped by today as well. Don’t worry. It feels like a Fighter alone._ A curious sort of concern from Victor. _Wait, do you think—?_

 _Figure it out and get back to me,_ Yuuri commanded, urgent and silent. He tipped his head to the side, his eyes narrowing in consideration. “You know who I am?”

The man’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Yeah. Do you know who _I_ am?”

“No. Though I get the idea you’re going to tell me.” Yuuri hitched his bag up on his shoulder. “If you’re here to talk, I know a place.”

He nodded and leaned down to pick up a bag Yuuri hadn’t previously noticed—a padded satchel made for camera accessories. “Lead the way.”

Yuuri brought him to the courtyard near the library, to the very same table he had sat at with Victor all those months ago. Yuuri approached and sat down readily; when he looked back, the man had the lens cap dangling from his camera and was snapping pictures of the sunlight through the budding leaves. “What are you doing?”

“Documenting,” he replied. He glanced up from the sights and looked around the clearing, and then to Yuuri. “Oh. This looks a lot like a place I used to go.”

Yuuri nodded once, a little perplexed. A picnic area in a courtyard, surrounded by trees—surely there were plenty of places that looked like that. Why was this one important enough to be photographed? “And the photos—”

“A habit.” The man approached, clipping his lens cap back on as he sat across from Yuuri. “There was an incident when I was a kid, and I lost all sense of who I was. They said I became a different person. I got so paranoid about forgetting who I was again that I started taking photos of everything. Physical manifestations of memories, of family and friends.” He looked down. His hands tightened around the camera. “Friends, anyway. Maybe not family.”

Oh. _Oh._

Yuuri sat up straight. “You’re _Loveless,_ aren’t you?”

The man smiled, but the expression was bitter. With careful hands, he pulled the camera free from around his neck and set it on the tabletop, the strap coiled beneath it. Then he reached for the turtleneck collar of his jacket. He hesitated for just a moment before he pulled the zipper down.

Yuuri stared; he could do nothing else. Once, sitting here, he had been stunned by the beauty of a name. He had seen the letters spelling _Fated_ for the first time in all its silver opalescent glory.

This man’s name was a scar, carved _deep_ into the skin—a collar of thorns and branches that must have taken ages to heal, and must have been terrible to bear. Written above his collarbones, across the base of his throat in jagged letters, was the name _Beloved._

Yuuri’s stomach churned with dread, with pity, with alarm because of that _name_ that was known to all in Goura as a curse—

“Not anymore,” Ritsuka said.

“I—” Yuuri cut himself off. His chest _hurt_ at the sight of the wound. Yuuri’s name was his joy, a badge of love and equality written on his body. But Ritsuka’s name was rough, eye-catching in a way that terrible things drew attention, and not always favorably. “What—?”

“What happened?” Ritsuka leaned back, hands anchored on the bench. He turned his face to the sky; his hair ruffled in the breeze, and Yuuri realized the very ends of the strands were almost curled. “I commanded Soubi to do this to me. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen him cry.”

Yuuri swallowed hard.

Ritsuka lifted his head, looked him directly in the eyes. “You have to understand something. For my brother, this name was a strategy. To make himself _Beloved:_ loved by all, known by none. He created this… this _shape_ of himself that _wasn’t_ himself. And that’s the person everyone knew as _Beloved._ ” He leaned forward again and laid a hand atop his camera. Not moving, not fiddling. Just… _there._ “He told me he knew the day I was born that I would belong to him. That sealed my fate as _Loveless._ One without love.”

“Your Fighter,” Yuuri said softly. The thought was terrible; it made his heart twinge. He tried to imagine what it must feel like, if his sibling had deliberately, knowingly hurt the person he was meant to share his life with. He could never imagine Mari doing such a thing. Never.

Ritsuka went quiet for a moment. Finally, he nodded. “I would never have a Fighter with the name _Loveless._ And Seimei had abused his name,” his voice turned vicious, “and he abused Soubi. Hurt him. Cut him. No one should ever treat another human that way, and Soubi had already suffered so much. Blank Fighters can’t be reassigned once they’re Named. Soubi was going to be _Beloved_ for the rest of his life, alone.”

There was a time when Yuuri had feared the same for Victor.

“He helped me so much. He protected me over and over. He loved me unconditionally. And once Seimei was… gone… well, Soubi had already fought for me, denied that name, bled for me. I was young and I thought love was all about equal exchanges, and I wanted to bleed for him too. So I commanded him to make me _Beloved,_ and now I am.”

Yuuri sat in silence for a series of seconds that felt like an hour. His eyes did not leave the mark. “Did it work?”

Ritsuka leaned back again, and Yuuri finally met his gaze. “Mostly. But I think the only reason it did was because Seimei was dead, I was his blood, and he had commanded Soubi to become mine. I don’t think anyone could ever do it again, if that’s what you’re asking. Blank Sacrifices don’t exist. If we don’t meet our potential, we’re nothing. We just… become like all the other human beings in the crowd.”

“Tell me something.” Yuuri’s fingers tapped on the tabletop. “Did you send Soubi to Goura?”

“We wanted to speak to _Fated_. I figured it was less threatening if we split up, one-on-one. I couldn’t do anything to pick a fight if I wanted to, and I think if they were on their own, your Nikiforov would give Soubi a run for his money. We’ve heard good things. We wanted to see if they were true.”

Yuuri leaned forward, elbows on the table, and rested his chin on his folded hands. “How’d you hear about us? We’re not exactly public knowledge.”

Ritsuka huffed with laughter; the violet of his eyes flashed bright in the sun. “Are you kidding? Our community is small, which means we _all_ hear news eventually. Ever since _Exalted_ came home with the news that Victor Nikiforov had a bondmate that wanted to reunite the Academies, we’ve been paying attention. Color me curious. So yeah, we’ve heard of you.”

There, Ritsuka’s eyes narrowed. His countenance became all-business.

“I need to know what your plans are for the Academies. I need to know things aren’t going back to the way they were. If they are, I’ll stop you. I promise you I will.”

Yuuri’s nearly hissed, hackles raised. In the stead of his more base emotions, his hands clenched into fists. “You want to keep matched pairs of Fighters and Sacrifices apart?”

“If it prevents the abuses done to them, then yes,” Ritsuka said. His jaw clenched. “Pain conditioning for Fighters so they show no weakness. Teachers taking favorites under their wing and pitting them against each other for bragging rights. Being woken up in the middle of the night and forced to fight each other so they understand what it is to do battle under pressure—those aren’t the kind of things that should be done to children, or _anyone._ ”

Yuuri sat up straight, alarmed. “What? No. I’ve _never_ seen that sort of thing. Whatever you’re talking about, Vitya loves those kids. He would never let them be hurt outside the scratches they get from sparring, and my sister runs the health office to patch them up—” Yuuri went silent. Still. Sudden understanding came to him in a wave, and he nearly collapsed forward as the words caught up to him. Weakly, he asked, “Pain conditioning?”

Violet eyes gleamed in the light. Ritsuka leaned toward Yuuri and it was like the world leaned with him; the wind picked up and blew through the leaves, and the breeze chilled Yuuri to the bone. Ritsuka’s face was deadly serious, quietly furious. “They beat them,” he said softly. “For Soubi, they used to whip him until he bled. They taught him not to make a single sound. They said that the best Fighters feel pain and don’t show it, but the worst Fighters are the ones who don’t feel it.”

Yuuri tensed. He hadn’t told _anyone_ about that, so how—

“They experimented on kids,” Ritsuka continued bitterly. “Lobotomized them so they could no longer feel pain, to see how it would affect their fighting. Every pair that was experimented on would present with the name _Zero._ And psychologically…” His face twisted. “They used them. Abused them. Treated them like they were less than human, and made them believe they were disposable. Only one pair of _Zero_ escaped the program. A pair of girls older than me: Yamato and Kouya. My… my friends Natsuo and Youji were killed on the night Seimei came.”

The look of pain and fury and loss was one that Yuuri could tell had not yet healed. He couldn’t imagine losing friends like that—losing _students._ The horrors that occured in other schools, that made victims of children and teachers… he didn’t want to think that was a risk he would ever have to deal with. Perhaps he might never have to, but the fear remained.

Beyond that, disgust. Revulsion. What kind of school could treat children that way?

At the back of his mind, a rolling sickness. Though all the fights Yuuri had witnessed Victor endure, he never hissed, never winced, never made a sound.

He felt a flicker of awareness that was not his own; Yuuri withdrew into himself, took those thoughts and hid them away from Victor, at least for now. He didn’t want Victor to sense his distress. No—they would have a conversation later, when Yuuri’d had time to think.

“I would never,” Yuuri whispered. “Vitya would never. Not after what he’s been through. Mari and Minako, Lilia—we’re all family. We would _never_ deliberately hurt our students, not ever.”

Ritsuka’s eyes were sharp. He drummed his fingertips on the tabletop. “What about the other Academies? What protections do you intend to put in place to protect the others? A unified system should have rules and regulations that apply to everyone.”

“We’re already working on that.” Yuuri pressed one hand over his mouth; he took a breath and let it fall. “I’m in contact with the Leroys in the North American faction. Lilia will be returning to St. Petersburg soon, but she doesn’t want to leave here until she’s made significant progress with the decryption.”

Ritsuka’s eyes flashed in the light. He pursed his lips; the bandage at the corner of his mouth formed the same kind of wrinkle that crossed his forehead. “Seimei’s encryptions?”

Yuuri sat up straight, immediately alert. “What do you know about them?”

Ritsuka grimaced. He looked down to his camera, but he did not focus on it. Instead, his gaze was distant. “Seimei was a genius with computers. He was above and beyond. But I know he compromised the system on the night of his attack. I know he shut them down, locked their records and the matching algorithms.”

“Do you know how?”

Ritsuka looked up. “Yes.”

Yuuri’s heart kicked up to double time. “Will you tell us?”

Ritsuka rested his chin in his palm. He surveyed Yuuri carefully. “I’m still deciding.”

Yuuri took a deep breath; his heart was steadily crawling up his throat. Answers. Real answers. They were sitting right across from him, at the whim of a person who had not yet decided if he was worthy. Yuuri didn’t know if or _how_ he could prove himself.

But did it matter? They were already working on new algorithms. Their system wouldn’t be automatic, but it was a _good_ idea. The Academies had gone without the matching data for so many years already, and they had been so _fixated_ on that information that they’d never taken the chance to move forward.

Yuuri would not make the same mistake. “Then what do you want from me?”

Violet eyes fixed on him; Ritsuka blinked slowly with something that looked like satisfaction. “That’s it? No begging? No challenging me for the intel you want?”

Yuuri tipped his head to the side. “You’ll either give it to me or you won’t. The matching data would be helpful but it’s not necessary. I can’t force you to hand it over, and you can’t force me to stop the data exchange program. It has nothing to do with you.”

Ritsuka winced at the words. Yuuri was undeterred. He pushed himself back from the table and swung his legs over the bench. He stood, and Ritsuka stared up at him.

“So if all you want is to hold that information over our heads, I’ll be going. Whatever you wanted to talk about, whatever you want from me, I’m not going to give it to you. Neither will Vitya.” Yuuri’s lip curled as he checked in on Victor, found him attentive and interested and occupied, but not under undue strain. Slowly, he forced himself to relax when he felt the tiny _ping_ back that whispered reassurance.

“You mean that,” Ritsuka said. “You would really walk away right now.”

“Yes,” Yuuri replied, blunt. “And I’m going to, unless you have something you want to say and make me stay.”

“What about your students?” he asked with a frown. “Their matches?”

“We can do that without you.” Yuuri picked up his bag and swung it onto his shoulder. “And if you try to interfere with that, I _will_ challenge you. We _will_ protect them. Whatever your brother wanted is done now. It has no place in our world.”

Yuuri turned and walked away. Perhaps without the cipher they would never find the truth, but maybe some things were better left buried after all.

“Hey—hey, _Fated._ Wait up.”

Yuuri shot a frown over his shoulder as Ritsuka jogged to catch up, his camera thumping against his chest. “My name is Yuuri.”

“Fine, Yuuri, whatever—geez, do you always walk this fast?” Ritsuka cut him off and skidded to a halt, cheeks slightly flushed. He breathed harder than Yuuri would have expected and swiped at his face with the back of his hand.

The bandage fell away. Beneath it was a scar, or rather several—four small pock marks, evenly spaced and pale. Ritsuka sighed as the gauze fell into his hand. “Shit.” Yuuri blinked. Ritsuka ducked his head in embarrassment. “It’s no big deal, it was an accident—”

He cut himself off. He kicked at the grass, and Yuuri let the silence stretch.

Ritsuka heaved another sigh. “It wasn’t an accident. My mother… sometimes she didn’t know who I was. She’d hit me or throw things at me.” He touched the marks, rubbed over them one by one with the tip of his index finger, and looked lost. “She stabbed me with a fork. It was right around the time I met Soubi. People ask less questions about the bandage.”

Yuuri didn’t know what to say to that.

“It’s weird,” Ritsuka said softly. He reached down to his camera and popped open a compartment. Inside, there was a memory card inserted into the SD slot. But inside the hatch, a small, black piece of tape—almost unnoticeable. Ritsuka picked at it with the edge of his nail. “I can talk about Seimei, but I still don’t like to talk about her. I guess because I _know_ Seimei was wrong. But my mom, sometimes I don’t know. She just wanted _her_ Ritsuka back, but I couldn’t give him to her. Still don’t know where he went. It’s just me.”

The tape peeled away. Stuck to the white adhesive was a micro-SD. Ritsuka’s breathing evened out. He looked exhausted. He took a step forward and grabbed Yuuri by the wrist; pulled his hand up and placed the chip into his palm. It was smaller than the size of his fingernail.

“Don’t thank me,” Ritsuka said before Yuuri could try. “I knew what this was. I knew what it meant. But the Seven Moons _ruined_ lives. I don’t want to do them any favors.”

He raised his eyes and met Yuuri’s in a fierce stare.

“I’m not giving this to them—to Feltsman or Baranovskaya or Leroy or anyone. I’m giving this to _Fated,_ and _Fated_ only.”

Yuuri’s fist clenched around the chip. He reeled in surprise. “Why? I don’t—I don’t know _anything_ about the Academies, or how things were, or—”

“Yeah, exactly,” Ritsuka insisted. “It wasn’t always like this. We didn’t used to have Fighters and Sacrifices. Just soulmates, and when they came together, there were miracles. Then people started using them, making them fight. It’s all about power. That’s always the reason people hurt each other. You’re the only person I can think of who doesn’t know or care about that. You just want people to be happy, and if they find each other and they don’t want to fight, I _know_ you won’t make them. So take it.”

Yuuri stared down at his hand, at Ritsuka’s fingers clenched around it. It didn’t feel right. It was so much responsibility. Even though he’d wanted it in abstract, to have someone put all these lives into his hands—

“If you don’t take it, I’m just going to destroy it,” Ritsuka added vehemently. “So take it. You’re _Fated._ Find the other fated ones and bring them together. Don’t let any of them be lonely.”

Yuuri swallowed.

Ritsuka’s hand fell away. He took a step back, and his face twisted in a sad, complicated smile. “Don’t let any of them be _Loveless._ Promise me.”

Disbelief struck him all at once. After months, after _years_ of struggles from so many people, the answer lay in a memory card that was so small Yuuri feared he could drop it in the grass and it would be lost forever. He held on to it tightly with a sensation of terror.

But he was _happy._

“Yeah,” Yuuri said, thick emotion welling in his throat and making it difficult to speak. How much sooner would he and Victor have found each other with this? But in the end, they _had_ found each other. Did it matter when?

They were _Fated._

Yuuri was finally starting to understand what that might mean—for them, and for others.

Their name was their fate.

“I promise.”

Ritsuka dug into his camera bag and unearthed a plastic case, perhaps three centimeters square, but very nearly flat. He held it out to Yuuri—oh, the case for the chip. Well, that _did_ make Yuuri feel better. At least this was an object he’d be able to feel in his pocket.

He clipped the memory card into its slot and snapped the thing closed. He put it in his pocket and touched it, then touched it again.

He couldn’t quite believe this was real.

“That’s the key, you know,” Ritsuka said. He frowned. “ _Loveless._ Instead of a sixteen-bit key, it’s an eight-bit key, alphanumeric. Each letter has a number, from one to twenty-six. The cipher shifts each block depending on how it lines up with my name. Seimei _did_ use a random sequence. It was only the _key_ that _wasn’t_ random.”

Yuuri glanced down at his pocket. “That’s…”

“Evil genius?” Ritsuka sighed. “Yeah. I know. He was the best. He knew everything about everyone. He collected data on everyone he ever knew—but there’s a failsafe in that chip. When you upload the cipher, it’ll remotely wipe out his backups. It’ll all be done. All of it. No more messages sent from beyond the grave.”

Yuuri let out a long, slow breath. The man across from him looked exhausted, haunted—but not that much older than Yuuri. He still had a long life ahead of him, a lot of love yet to experience. “What about you? Are you going to come back?”

Ritsuka barked out a laugh and tossed his head back. His hair ruffled in the breeze. He really _was_ striking. If Seimei was anything like Ritsuka, Yuuri could imagine how a pretty face and a smooth voice could have charmed almost anyone into believing him.

“I don’t know. Probably not.” Ritsuka slouched, smiling absently down at the camera around his neck. “We might stop in to see some friends, but I don’t know what our plans are. I don’t think we have any. But it’s tough to stay here knowing what my legacy is. Maybe it’s best if the Aoyagi family stays far, _far_ away from Goura.”

“Well,” Yuuri said decisively, “if you ever want to visit, you only have to say so. You’re doing a good thing. I don’t know or care who you were before or what you did. This is peacetime. Things are different now. And the Academy’s different, too.”

Yuuri held out his hand. Ritsuka blinked at it, and Yuuri wiggled his fingers.

“Give me your phone. I’ll give you my number. If you ever want to come back or come teach or do whatever, just say so.”

Ritsuka moved as if he wasn’t even thinking about it; the expression on his face was bemused as Yuuri entered his phone number into Ritsuka’s contacts, like he wasn’t even sure how he’d ended up in this situation in the first place. “You remind me of one of my friends. She was pushy, too.”

Yuuri laughed a little. “If you’d met me before I met Vitya, you’d know I wasn’t like this before. I’m who I am now because of him.”

A smile bloomed over Ritsuka’s face, soft and pleased. “Yeah, I know how that can be.”

“There.” Yuuri handed his phone back. “You can text me or not. I’ll leave it up to you. But the option is always open.” He patted his pocket. “I won’t forget this.”

“No,” Ritsuka said. “Neither will I.”

They walked together toward the edge of the courtyard, and turned in unison to look back. They took in the empty tables, the sun through the trees, the hum of life all around them. Ritsuka had not zipped up the collar of his jacket, or replaced the bandage on his face. The truth of him was bared for all to see—a man scarred by life, who had made himself _Beloved._

Ritsuka lifted his camera, and wiggled it in his hands. He grinned, _truly_ , and when he did, he looked so _young._ Something about the shine of his mischievous smile reminded Yuuri of Phichit. “Want to make some memories with me? I’ve never been to Hasetsu before.”

Yuuri laughed. Something inside him clicked into place.

Not everything was made right yet, but it would be.

Starting from here, things would be different.

It was a new age. A new era. A new generation.

“Yeah, sure. I know a couple of places.” Yuuri pulled the strap of his backpack over his head and across his body. He turned away from the clearing and the tables, from the purpose they had served. “Let’s go. I’ll show you my favorites.”

 

* * *

 

It was the first time in recent memory that Yuuri wasn’t the first one home.

Victor was sprawled across their couch, staring at the ceiling. His hair was a puddle of silver around him, silver streams trickling off the sides of the cushions. Yuuri paused in the doorway when he came in, taking in the sight.

Victor looked up.

Yuuri dropped his bag.

He crawled on top of Victor and pushed his face into the curve of his neck. Victor purred at the warm compress of Yuuri’s weight atop him and slid his arms up Yuuri’s back, underneath his clothing.

“Okaeri,” Victor murmured, and it made Yuuri’s heart swell.

“Tadaima,” Yuuri replied.

They lay in silence, until—

“I met Ritsuka,” Yuuri said. He removed his glasses and reached over the side of the couch to place them on the floor, his phone following it for the sake of practicality. Cuddling Victor was more comfortable without either of them. “He wasn’t anything like what I expected. How was Agatsuma?”

“Complicated,” Victor said softly. “He made me think about a lot of things.”

Yuuri raised his head. He felt through the thread of their connection for discontent, apprehension. “About me?”

Victor pushed his hands further up Yuuri’s shirt until they curved over the crests of his shoulders. “Mostly the things I’ve done. The way I’ve been treated, and the way I’ve treated others because of it.” He took a breath so deep that Yuuri’s body rose and fell with the swell of it. “There are things I should tell you about the training I went through. He said it would help, but I don’t know what to say.”

Yuuri’s arms went around Victor’s neck, rested under his head like a pillow. “The pain conditioning?” Yuuri asked. Victor’s whole body twitched. “Aoyagi told me how the Academies used to be. He wanted to make sure we weren’t going to do those things again. I put two and two together.”

Victor closed his eyes. He tipped his head to the side in resigned submission. “There’s a difference, though. Soubi didn’t ask for it. I did.”

Yuuri turned his arms over so they faced palm-up. He scritched gently at Victor’s scalp until his purring grew audible again. Thoughts drifted across his mind—the desire to be strong and capable. The willingness to do anything for success. The despair at thinking he had reached his peak, and demanding to be pushed past it.

The satisfaction, until he realized what he was truly asking for.

“That doesn’t make it right.” Yuuri kissed Victor’s cheek and rested their foreheads together. “I know you weren’t thinking about it then, but I’d never ask you to do that for me. If you never wanted to fight together again, that would be ok. We could leave after I graduate and travel the world together.”

Victor stared up at him. Yuuri curled his hands in Victor’s hair, careful not to pull enough to hurt.

“And if you want to rebuild the Seven Moons, if you want to start it over and make it better, then I’m going to be with you. But only if that’s what you want.”

Victor tipped his head up for a kiss. Yuuri leaned down to meet him in a soft press of lips, a sweep of their tongues. It lasted until Victor pulled back, rested his head in Yuuri’s hold.

“Soubi told me the most important thing he and Ritsuka ever did was find their own place in the world, together.” Victor freed one hand from Yuuri’s clothing and reached up to touch his face with the flutter of a smile. He turned his head, looked out at the room—their boxes stacked along the walls, the bed that was an amalgam of the onsen’s old blankets. They hadn’t yet found the time to make the room truly theirs, as busy as they’d been.

But maybe they weren’t meant to.

“Maybe…” Victor started shyly, hesitantly. “Maybe it’s time to find our own place together, too.”

Yuuri’s lips parted, still kiss-pink. He blinked down at Victor. “Like… a house?”

“An apartment might be a good start,” Victor replied with a smile. “Not too far from here. A little closer to the Academy, but close enough that you can keep your job when they ask you to stay past the summer. You know they will, Yuuri.”

Yuuri’s heart sped at the thought. “No one to overhear us.”

Victor’s grin widened. “Private bathroom. Our own kitchen space.”

Yuuri warily hissed through his teeth. His chest bloomed with warmth. “That might be dangerous.”

“Only one way to find out.”

Victor’s hope and happiness was a live flame. Yuuri was pleased to find it exactly matched his own. “You want to stay.”

“We have our whole lives to go anywhere we want to go,” Victor murmured. He pushed his hand into Yuuri’s hair, cupped the back of his skull. “I’ve wanted a family for so long. Now I have you and yours. My home is with you, and your home is here. If we decide we want to change that later, then we’ll worry about it later. For now, I’m happy being here where you are.”

Yuuri nodded helplessly. With an incredulous laugh, he broke into a smile. “But not _here_ here.”

“Maybe not _right_ here,” Victor conceded. “Somewhere here-adjacent.”

Yuuri leaned down, pressed a series of quick kisses to Victor’s face, his cheeks, his lashes, and Victor _glowed_ with joy. “I think they call that _there._ ”

“Anywhere,” Victor promised. He freed his right hand, his named hand, and held Yuuri’s face in his palms. He drew him down for another slow, lingering kiss, and tipped Yuuri sideways so he was squished between Victor’s body and the cushions of the couch. “We’re _Fated._ Wherever we go is wherever we’re meant to be.”

Yuuri grumbled, entirely performative. He wiggled to get comfortable. “So if I get crushed into the couch and suffocate, that’s how I’m meant to go?”

Victor’s lips twitched as he tried and failed to maintain a solemn expression. “Well, you’ll die loved, at least.”

Yuuri burst into peals of laughter. He shoved at Victor’s chest to make himself more room. “Awful. You’re awful.”

Victor budged down and tucked his face into Yuuri’s neck. “Awfully funny.”

Yuuri groaned. “ _Please_ , not my dad’s jokes. Anything but that.” He tugged Victor closer, wrapped himself in the warmth and comfort of his bondmate. Then, softer, “We don’t even have kids yet.”

It took Victor a moment. Then he lifted his head, his mouth soft and open, and stared at Yuuri with his heart in his eyes. His soul shone brightly, resonated with Yuuri’s hopes and dreams.

All of it started here.

Yuuri nuzzled him, caught in the spotlight of Victor’s reverent stare. “If you ever want to talk about the things you lived through, I’ll be here to listen. I’m with you forever. I want you no matter what.” He kissed Victor’s temple, squeezed him tight. He took a breath. “I have something to tell you.”

“If you tell me we’re having a baby, I’m gonna be really impressed. I’m also gonna have a lot of questions.”

Yuuri snorted _hard,_ shaking with laughter. He slapped Victor’s shoulder with very little impact, squished together as they were. “What? No!”

Victor smushed his face into Yuuri’s chest; Yuuri could feel the shape of his smile. “Well I hate to say it, but anything else is less interesting. Carry on, though.”

_“Vitya.”_

“I’m waiting.”

Yuuri felt his face heat, cheeks flaming hot and aching with his smile. “Now I don’t want to tell you at all.”

Victor pulled back, and it placated Yuuri to see that Victor was grinning, too. He propped his chin in his hand with a fond sigh; his mirthful expression simmered down to a soft bow of his lips. “Alright, I’m listening. For real this time.”

Yuuri stared up at him, took in the face of the one he loved. This would change things, he knew, but wouldn’t change anything between them. Their days, perhaps—but not their nights, not their time together.

Change could be good.

Yuuri pulled the plastic case out of his pocket. He found Victor’s free hand with his own and pulled it between them, then placed the encased chip in his palm. He closed Victor’s fingers around it, wrapped it in the letters of their shared name, and now their shared fate.

“What’s this?” Victor asked.

Yuuri took a breath. He let it out. “It’s the cipher for the matching data.”

Victor’s chin slipped from its perch. Suddenly and all at once, he was no longer smiling. _“What?”_ Yuuri grinned sheepishly; Victor gaped at him. “Yuuri, you didn’t think to _lead_ with that?”

Yuuri understood the sentiment, he really did. But at the same time… “Why? We’re not going back to Goura tonight. It can wait until tomorrow.”

Victor’s eyes were wide. He deflated with a helpless sigh. _“Yuuri.”_

Yuuri buried his face in the couch cushion. “I know, I know.” Then he stopped hiding. He squeezed Victor’s hand, overlaid around the chip case. He pulled their hands close, nuzzled against Victor’s wrist. “Ritsuka gave it to me. He said it was only for us to use. For _Fated_ to find the fated. Our name, our fate: helping others find theirs.”

Victor’s expression softened. His heart swelled, a beacon of love in the back of Yuuri’s mind. _“Yuuri,”_ he said again. “Why wouldn’t you tell me before you asked if I wanted to stay?”

Yuuri wanted to shrink back, to cringe—instead, he sighed in return. He leaned forward to hide his face in Victor’s chest, to nose at him in affectionate apology. “I guess I wanted to make sure it was what you wanted. What _you_ wanted, not what you thought we should do.”

“What I want and what I think we should do are the same thing,” Victor replied. He ducked his chin and kissed the top of Yuuri’s head. His lips lingered in Yuuri’s hair. “Not to mention, how am I supposed to make a choice like that without all the facts? That _does_ impact my choice, but not out of obligation. Tell me next time. Let us decide together.”

He wasn’t angry—just firm. Yuuri made a soft sound of agreement and apology. “I guess we’ve suffered enough consequences of miscommunication to last a lifetime, huh?”

Victor’s arm wrapped around Yuuri’s shoulders. In Yuuri’s peripheral vision, he saw Victor’s hand clenched white-knuckled around the chip. “I want to think we’ll do better than Yakov. “

“I think we’re already doing better than Yakov.”

“Don’t say that, Yuuri. We still have a hundred years to mess up.”

“I think another hundred years is pretty optimistic.”

Victor huffed into Yuuri’s hair with wry amusement. He leaned back, balancing carefully to keep himself on the couch as he met Yuuri’s eyes. “Well I refuse to die unless I get another hundred years with you. Anything less is cruel and unfair.”

Yuuri bit down on the inside of his cheek to temper his grin. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that life isn’t fair?”

“Constantly, but I’m persistent and annoying enough to get my way.”

Yuuri’s lips twitched upward. “Really? How am I going to live my life with someone so unreasonable?”

Victor leaned down and nudged their foreheads together. “I guess you’ll just have to give me everything I want.”

Yuuri’s lashes fluttered. “Oh? Everything?”

Victor’s eyes went heavy-lidded, weighted by a slow, languid smirk. He tilted his chin to nibble at Yuuri’s lower lip. “Mmhm.”

“Within reason?”

“Mmm,” Victor murmured, and used his stunning strength to haul Yuuri closer. His arm went over the side of the couch—at the clatter of plastic, Yuuri realized he’d dropped the chip. “I’ve been told I’m very unreasonable.”

Yuuri rolled onto his back, his grin now unrestrained; Victor followed him. His arms anchored on either side of Yuuri’s head.

“Is that so?” Yuuri asked. He lifted his chin in casual invitation. “That’s a shame. I thought it would be reasonable for us to make out now. Guess I’m out of luck.”

Victor’s hair fell around them, a silver curtain. His pleasure and amusement buzzed at the back of Yuuri’s mind, second only to the contentedness that was an answering relay from Yuuri himself. “Maybe an exception can be made.”

Yuuri spread his legs and murmured his satisfaction as the warm weight settled against him. His hands found Victor’s chest, pushed back over the crests of his shoulders, lay possessive streaks of heat down his spine. “I certainly hope so—”

His phone rang.

Abruptly, everything came to a halt.

Yuuri groaned and tipped his head back, cruelly denied. Victor grumbled, his face dropping to connect with Yuuri’s sternum. “Don’t answer it.”

“Anyone we know will just call again until I pick up,” Yuuri replied, and stared at the indistinct shape of the ceiling. His arm dropped off the side of the couch, fishing blindly until it connected with the edge of his phone. He hauled it up and squinted at the caller ID: an unknown number.

“Weird,” Yuuri murmured. Out of curiosity alone, he pressed _answer._ “Hello?”

And nearly fumbled it in shock.

_“Hey! Katsuki! Come get us!”_

_“Yuri?_ What—where are you?”

Victor’s head shot up in alarm and tipped to the side in a gesture reminiscent of a perplexed puppy. “Yura?” He asked. Yuuri waved him off and strained to listen.

Luckily, he didn’t really have to try. _“Where the hell do you think I would call you from and tell you to come and get us? Seriously? The airport, idiot. Are all adults this stupid?”_

 _“I said you could use my phone, not get us stranded by being an ass. I told you to sleep on the plane. You need a nap. Hand it over.”_ A shuffle. In the background, a squabble. And then the unmistakably exasperated voice of Otabek. _“Hey. Sorry about that. Long story short, Yura got us visas and hacked your new network—”_

_“—which is totally insecure, by the way!”_

_“—and put in transfer paperwork for both of us, again. And since I apparently have no say in any of this, we’re sitting in the lobby of Fukuoka International with Feltsman’s stolen, cancelled credit card, and_ **_someone_ ** _didn’t think to bring cash.”_

_“Hey!”_

_“Anyway. I know it’s late and this sucks, but can you come get us?”_

Yuuri lay his head heavily against the couch in befuddled exasperation. “Um. I don’t really drive. Or own a car. So I’m not really sure how we’re gonna get to the airport in the middle of the night.”

 _“What?!”_ Victor demanded. He grabbed for Yuuri’s phone. “Give me that. Please. Thanks. _Yura!!”_

Victor was off the couch in a second, walking in senseless patterns to soothe his agitated mind. Somewhere across the room, Victor’s phone, too, started to ring.

In complete and total resignation, Yuuri crawled off the couch and stumbled toward the sound. He reached for Victor’s cell with a sigh and answered the call. Nothing could surprise him at this moment.

 _“Vitya,”_ said a gruff, exhausted tone. The man launched into a stream of Russian that, really, from the sound of it alone, Yuuri didn’t even have to guess who it was. They had never spoken directly, but it seemed now was the time.

“Hi Mr. Feltsman,” Yuuri sighed. “I’m Yuuri—Vitya’s Yuuri. Don’t worry, they made it. Vitya’s yelling at them now.”

Victor stormed over, a look of fury and panic on his face, and held out his other hand. “That too, please. Thank you, love. _Yakov!”_

Victor paced the room with a phone on each ear, still pink-cheeked and barefoot and with a tortured expression to rival any older sibling that Yuuri had ever seen. Only family could so swiftly and succinctly reduce one to the desire for murder.

Yuuri collapsed back against the new mattress and the old blankets, surrounded by the scents of home. The cipher for the matching data lay forgotten on the floor, insignificant as trash. Seimei and his destruction seemed the furthest thing from Yuuri’s mind in that moment.

Yuuri started to laugh. Whole-bodied. Helpless. So loud that Victor stopped pacing and stared. Until his ribs ached and he wheezed for breath and tears rolled over the side of his face.

Well, Yuuri figured, if this was his fate, he could certainly do worse.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of child abuse (Ritsuka is canonically abused by his mother in Loveless) and pain conditioning (Soubi is canonically and routinely hurt to train him to take pain without making a sound. It is implied that Victor volunteered for this same treatment to make himself stronger, whereas Soubi was forced to endure this). Loveless is not a manga for the faint of heart.
> 
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